I use to walk through downtown and adore the complex flavours,
But now I’m cold and wearing boots, winter comes to ruin our fun,
I could purchase so many organic items, at summer markets we would savour.
Winter steals our fruit, vegetables, baking, and wine –for there is no more summer sun.
I would live my Saturday’s with joy down the venue lanes,
Sipping on real lemonaid and smelling baking bread in the air, and I could buy,
Cherries in July so dark and red, bleeding sweetness on my lips and into my veins;
Apricots, pited, fuzzy orange, and devoured with a sigh.
Apple pies, the old fashioned kind; for that I’ll pay my money.
Baby carrots, little stubs, add some butter, after boiling some.
Rhubarb wine, bitter sweet, a drink, I swallow and it tastes like honey;
Or you could buy the real deal, natural honey from bees that hum.
I make my way to other venues with jewelry and clothes, trying on a designer dress —
From Cinder & Smoke, and I buy a baby quilt all pink and white, for a little niece.
That market had everything, food, spices, necklaces, dog treats, items I’ve failed to impress.
But now the wind sweeps through these empty streets with no market, may it rest in peace (until next year).