The Market

How deep must the heart lurk beneath clear skies,
For some rain to fall above murky woods,
And haunt those gloating in others' demise,
Flooding that muck with peddlers and their goods.
Flush out the lingering thoughts they provide,
Promising each good is well worth your time,
Ignore their eagerness, put it aside,
Search instead quite closely beneath that grime.
Most wares are small and worthless, unneeded,
Perhaps they are wanted but be wary,
They will weigh you down unless conceded,
Once value is found, polish don't marry.
When polished through each little speckled bit,
Always remember, return and submit.