Do you ever go to market? Then you know

The rows of stalls, so long and all so white,

Where men in coats and aprons sell the meat

And cheese and eggs and fruit,

And all the people with their bundles make a sight

Of cheerful busy trade that I remember well,

When I was small my father used to take

Me there, and when we stepped inside

I'd clutch his hand and look far down

The rows, and we would walk and walk

Past stalls where the kind of meat

Was hung, and men whirred carving knives

On steel, or threw a piece of steak

On glittering scales, and underfoot

The sawdust stuck to shoes, and still we walked

Until we found our stall, and then a man

All dressed in white, whose glistening teeth

Shone from a face as red as beef before him

On the block, would cut some meat,

And dad would pay, and off we'd go

Again and round outside to where

The cellars and the booths were simply filled

With things to eat, where big red beets

And corn and apples, and at times

Strawberries and other luscious things

Made of the covered walk a bit of wonderland

For me, a little boy. And in the winter

There would be such heaps of wreaths

And Christmas trees, all smelling sweet,

And I remember how the horses hoofs

Crunched on the ice, and all the green

Was hung about, and hurrying crowds

And lights made more excitement

Than a little boy could understand.

It was the last night of the Christmas week

When we were there, my dad and I, when every market man

Is in his glory, and in the tingling air

There runs an undercurrent of rejoicing,

And the market seems to be the nicest place

Of all to be,

And while she stood

And bought the things to carry home,

The turkey and the curley candy and the nuts

And other things, I'd look above the crowd

Across the market, where the tower

Stood so tall, and little lights

Shone all the way, and at the very top

One glistened like a star, and I

Would think how close to heaven that must be.

All that was long ago, but even yet

There is a thrill for me in marketing.