FARMERS’ MARKET

Saturday morning, summer time,

Milling crowd, weather fine.

Among the products of the soil

Works of artists’, craftsmen’s toil.

Folks with goods they think might please

Set up shop beneath the trees.

Tourists, locals wander through,

Seeking bargains, something new.

Friends and neighbours chat and joke,

Yet what may lie behind a cloak

Of disingenuous words and smiles?

What brings people to these isles?

Beauty, peace and isolation,

Escape from urban perturbation.

Yes, and something other too,

Something of a darker hue.

In cabins hid in forest murk

Abandoned hope and lost love lurk.

The Farmers’ Market, delight to all,

But does joy last beyond the fall?