After yesterday's flight of fantasy, now a poem of that most prosaic of activities: Shopping
Once upon a time there were goblin markets
With objects wonderful and magical
Potions, gems, instruments and exotic pets
(Taken home they turned out to be awful)
Later, so the stories go*, appearing
Shops would sell the same for bargain prices
Then vanish; their dusty stock once seeming
Good, when purchased, the lustre melts like ice
Now pop-up shops fill vacant high streets but
I am too wise in the ways and the wares.
Although the decorations have been cut
In price. I might just go and buy a pair
So gentle reader, don't be offended
The age of wonders is not ended.
* I recommend Bazaar of the Bizarre by Fritz Leiber.