Market
From the mouths of children
Breathing white smoke
The chill of the day already
Covered by an invisible cloak
As if filled with tears
The gathering dark clouds
Ready to burst with rain
Over the swelling crowds
Sounds of the street
As day fills with life
Echo in the cold winds
That can slice like a knife
The sonorous voice
Of an eager hawker
Selling his wares as
Patrons offer tender
Bundled citizens hunched over
With faces as red as roses
Braving the bitter cold
With dripping noses
Hirsute dogs straying
Amongst the throng
Looking for scraps
As the day grows long
An alliance of locals
Gather at the tavern
Adopting good humor
As the moon turns silvern
Christine Bolton – Poetry for Healing ©
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