At the Farmer’s Market…

I walk the rows,
Through the flock,
Of meandering people,
Arrived here to shop,

I see the smiles,
For purchases made,
On the goods we need,
To make lemonade

We laugh with glee,
And childish delight, 
Among these people,
Something feels right

A band plays,
We stop to see,
This pleasant music,
Made for free,

I admire the art,
The fruits of our hands,
And I pick of the fruit,
Laid on grocers stands,

I walk through the crowd,
A strange sort of dance,
Dodging the bodies,
Of those left entranced,

We come for our goods,
But we come for much more,
We come for the smile,
Not found in the store,

We stop and we chat,
Of oils, fresh pressed,
The knowledge we glean,
I must say, I’m impressed,

We continue our saunter,
Through the rows and the stalls,
We find all the goods,
Not found in the malls,

We think on the days,
When these were the ways,
That men used to eat,
Before cars hit our street,

Now our commons,
Lay beyond our reach,
For those of us who,
Find costs far too steep,

There once was a day,
When we would say,
Irving my friend,
What’s the catch of the day?

There’s something we lost,
When cutting the costs,
Something we left behind,
Something pushed out of mind,

These things that we eat,
Didn’t come from a store,
They came from a place,
Where they resided before,

They came from the land,
Picked by man’s hands,
The ways they prepared,
Made it worth being shared,

You are what you eat,
We know this is true,
You are what you eat,
I know it, do you?

We are what we eat,
And what I eat today,
Tastes quite different,
Then what I ate yesterday,

A big mac with cheese,
Tastes of sawdust and grease,
But a home cooked meal, 
Well that’s something surreal,

It tastes of more,
Than what goes in the dish,
A secret ingredient,
That makes it delish,

There are words of lore,
Words from long before,
I’ll say it once more,
You are what you eat,

What do I eat,
So unlike before,
What do I eat,
That tastes of much more,

Then I recall,
The look in her eye,
That last look,
Before we said goodbye,

That shinning spark,
Breaking the dark,
That tiny spark,
It hit my mark,

The spark you see,
Is in the happy souls,
Those not subject,
To what they’ve been told,

“The food that you eat,
Is found in a store,”
Oh come now that logic,
Doesn’t fly anymore,

So what is that taste,
I feel on my tongue, 
That taste that pleases,
The old and the young,

Just as the sun,
Shines from above,
Shining from her eyes,
I saw, it was love,

When we make with our hands,
That which we eat,
Whatever it is,
Be it veg or fruit or meat,

Something is there,
Imbued in our food,
Not something foreign,
That darkens our mood,

Something of light,
I taste on my tongue,
Something feels right,
When we feed to the young,

There is something there,
I found in my food,

It’s love,
And I found it,
At the Farmer’s Market.

 

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