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
