When we go to the fair
All life is there.
One’s fortune may be told
For a piece of bright gold
By the crone
Who seeing the lone
Girl, the one with the wistful look in her eye
Looks into her crystal ball and does lie.

“I see
What will be.
A tall dark handsome stranger comes your way”
She may say.
Or looking into the tea leaves and seeing only damp dust,
Thinks “needs must”
And a smile
Does beguile
In a thirsty heart.

We all play our part.
The storeholder does grin
For he offers baubles to win.
We take
And perhaps, afterwards, rue our mistake.

The day has barely begun.
Yet the fair goers after pleasure run.
All must have their fun
While the sun
Is high
In the sky.

At night the rides are idle.
A black cat does sidle
Into the fortune teller’s tent.
A clatter
As the crystal ball does shatter
And dreams that where never meant
Are forever rent.