It was summer last, when I discovered the Lock,
But returning in winter, I was in for a shock.
In summer, the Market is in its full glory,
But, in winter, it paints a very different story.
In summer, I strolled around a bustling square,
But returned there in winter to find it all but bare.
In summer, with people, the Market is thronging,
But, in winter, for people, the Market is longing.
In summer, people tucked into pakora and pies,
Deep fried mars bars and burgers and fries.
In summer, there are visitors from every race,
But, in cold winter months, this isn't the case.
In summer, Camden Market comes alive,
But, in winter, there's a rather different vibe.
In summer, Camden boasts a great atmosphere,
But in the winter, very few ever venture near.
In summer, the traders all set up their stalls,
But, in winter, very few of them bother at all.
In winter, the traders, who still come every day,
Stay a few hours, then pack their wares away.
In winter, the customers do not hang around,
And the traders do not make many pounds.
In summer, around the stalls, the people roam,
But in winter, they'd much rather stay at home.
Of summer sun, Camden needs an injection,
To steer it back in the right direction.
In winter, the Market is somewhat depressing,
But, in summer, it receives a rainbow dressing.
I just can't wait for the days to get hotter,
So that, around the stalls, people will potter.
Of atmosphere, in winter, there is a big lack:
Oh, how I wish for the summer to come back!
Angela Wybrow's Other Poems
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