Selling History

I walked one day underneath on cobblestone street
between the vendors on Portebello Road.
Amongst the paintings and jewelry from afar,
a rough skinned man stood and addressed the crowd:

“If you give me a penny, sad-eyed stranger,
I’ll play you a song on my piano of wind.
I’ll sing through the trees a memory you weave,
and braid it into your evening so fair.

“If you give me a nickel, bright-eyed babe,
I’ll whisper sacred texts of kingdoms of old.
I’ll tell you the tales of knights and maidens
to lure you to sleep on this cool autumn night.

“If you give me a dime, gorgeous-eyed girl,
I’ll sew you a dress like Cleopatra’s,
the very same one the queen of the Nile wore,
covered in gold and finest linen.

“If you give me a quarter, gentle-eyed gent,
I’ll give you the Crusades in all their glory-
knights and swords, blood and justice,
a forgotten jihad to hand on your door.

“If you give me a dollar, wise-eyed woman,
I’ll sell you the Great Wall of China and Samurais,
beautiful statues from the Forbidden City,
encrusted with gems and covered in gold.”

Then the peddler smiled and opened his arms wide,
to show an array of watches and trinkets, useless
but beautiful in their own little way,
as if this poor man were indeed selling history.