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 So imagine the awe, When no sign points the way A Town's Market—obscured and withdrawn?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.