Hidden In Plain View
It’s a place for affairs,
A gathering place
That for centuries has graced town squares.
The Market—it’s social,
Brimming with culture
In cities or towns, on mountains or coastal.
There—barter's real,
Through each offered pence
These gateways for shoppers and deals.
So imagine the awe,
When no sign points the way
A Town's Market—obscured and withdrawn?
Lost on dark streets, quiet and narrow,
Cobblestones and shoppers—they wander
Searching they wind, or stroll straight as an arrow.
Irony abounds, within the mere thought,
Of a Market hidden from plain view
That insulates shoppers, from getting things bought.
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