Gran Market Night
Christmas eve night coming home
When grand marketing is done
Foot stepping high over stony loam
Heart panting for the merry fun
Suddenly the noise is not the same
The humming of figuring tongues
Changed to bush crackling with flame
The frantic scream of happy lungs
The scampering glee of feet, and there
The lurid lurch of masks, and fifes
Wooing me close to the bantering air
Of drums: jon kunno! A whip of strifes
Lashes out from the past, a sweet peel
Of laughter says hush, we are healed.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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