the crafters

 

 

 

The Crafters

 

They stood amongst pavilions fair – their toil and triumphs displayed there

For all to see who came that day and paid to enter

Either with keen intent or idle interest, to while away an hour or two upon a rainy Sunday.

Those who had grafted and crafted and given birth to their creations

Carved and painted with love and passion – produced with frustration or satisfaction

They stood and hoped that their love would be shared by all who entered there that day

How could they fail to buy the house, the cat, the scary guy

The doorstop, holder, hanger, pot

How much love had gone into that lot – created by such skilful hand

And presented to those of this fine land who came to see, if not to buy

Faces long and pocket deep – how could those who visit keep such granite faces?

Surely they must understand the work, the hours, the care, the planning

The frustration and tears when failure mars the finishes product.

Will it sell?  Will it sell? – nonchalance feigned as people approach the stall

Will our creations be loved by all – will they buy?

Or will they glance with feigned indifference, not penetrating our emotional defence

Oh yes, oh yes, at last a smile.  Perchance to handle for a while

That which we have, throughout the night, worked to produce for your delight

They smile, and chat, and measure its merits against that which perhaps they

Obtained last year on some similar day.

It pleases, thank Heaven; they buy and offer crisp notes of enormous value

In order to finalise the transaction.

Deep into pocket, purse and handbag do the crafters delve to offer change

Or else to lose this sale.

And then, as if the dam has burst, the trickle becomes a stream

Oh joy, our dream is shared by those who that day are there

And when all is done and all accounted for, the crafters exit, Laden, by the door

Through which they had this morn staggered, laden

Tired and drained, but happy yet.  The day was, this time, successful.

 

Ann Redburn