Things that go bump in the Night Market
On moonlit nights with clear
black skies Your dreams could fill
your sleep, One night you might believe
you had A pressing date to keep. It’s just a very select few Receive that invitation, So join the sleepy
summoned ones In their anticipation . . .
For deep inside the
ancient wood The market stalls appear, With glass jars filled
with fireflies To give them light and cheer. The fairies wave their
magic wands, The stalls are swathed in silk, And gossamer festoons
the trees Like clouds of creamy milk.
And then the stallholders
appear With carts and bags
and crates, To load their stalls with piles
of wares On racks and pretty plates. They laugh and chatter with
their friends And like to hear the news, A chance to exchange gossip And then make a coin or two.
So welcome to the
Night Market Keep firm hold of
your purse, The goblins are a tricky lot
They’ll steal your cash,
or worse. There’s so much here to take
your eye Like nought you’ve seen before Exotic goods from
other worlds And magic spells galore.
One stall has many cages full Of hopping, horny toads, Another selling broomsticks All lined up in serried rows. The potions stall is buzzing, Bottles glowing; coloured glass, A witch is telling fortunes — She predicts what comes
to pass.
You can buy a cat and
pointy hat Or a pair of bat-skin gloves, A potion that will cure all ills Or help you fall in love.
Some toffee, everlasting That will never rot your teeth, A purse with magic fastening Deters the slickest thief.
The customers are
strolling round Between the tall green trees, The elves walk with the naiads And the witches stride
in threes. The goblins scuttle
round alone The fairies flit and fly, So dreaming humans fit
right in As they drift slowly by.
You’ll find your pockets full
of coin To purchase what you like, You’ll have your arms filled
up with bags As you go home tonight, And when you wake up in
your bed Your parcels disappear, It’s just as if it was a dream And you were never there.
But check your pockets,
sure enough The fairy coins are gone, But tiny acorns take
their place For you to come upon, Reminding you that
sometimes dreams Are more real than you know, The Fairy Wood Night Market Is a place where dreamers go.
Lindsay Hartgroves, Launceston, Cornwall.