Miss Emmas Invisible Market

She loved Miss Emma’s market she shopped there every day No need for the red arrow on the sign along the way The incense of the spices would guide her every move They’d scent the air with perfume of which she did approve Though just a tiny garage hidden, tucked away from view Miss Emma’s was her favorite little secret rendezvous The irony, being hidden, is that she had lost her sight For her, Miss Emma’s market was a beacon in the night Invisible to Mary Yet real in every sense The little market meant so much Its impact was immense Miss Emma was the first one To help her find her way Not just with fragrant spices but by kindness, every day