The Zany Stranger At Fleece - A Narrative Poem

One day at a Garment shop,
I met a man selling socks,
For money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some black box.

“Got any black box?” asked I.
“For that’s how I’ll spend my money.”
“No black box here!” said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

“We’ve got some lovely tights,
I’ll give you a very fine price.”
“I’d rather have some smites.”
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally tall,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn’t what I would call small,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I’m a bit zany.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty veiny.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the Garment shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
“I can help you I believe.”

“Socks, black box, you shall find.
Tights smite, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Fleece Market.

So to Fleece Market, I decided to go,
In search of the black box, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling shoes,
Dresses in many shades.
There were even stalls selling flews
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather zany
I couldn’t help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all veiny.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, “For you, I have some black box!”
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some tights and socks.

“But how did you know?” I asked,
“Do you want them or not?” she did say.
Silently, the black box she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.

As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?