The Trade & Fourteen - Wordles #43

The Trade 

A black haired fair faced pomaded young man

Rode through the town fast as he can

Charms were his trade

Visions he made

Hanging from a belt for him made

Ephemeral sparkling young man

Gathering barefoot customers fast as he can

Running there through the fog

Weeping dew onto the bog

One maiden sat still -apart on a log

To this black haired sparkling young man

Raised her face lovely as a face can

Began her clear voiced interview

Why their gold coins accept you

When you know nothing for them can you do

Begone black haired pomaded young man

Ride from this dream trampled field fast as you can

As she spoke into his hair a sticker it fell

Small and sharp from the truth tree they tell

This last part dreamy with blur and confidential as well

Into that black hair the sticker burrowed deep, burrowed true

Until each purloined wish, glistened coin, each dream, tumbled returned anew

In the field outside Traded Town

Walked the fresh fair faced maiden ebon hair tumbled down

Smiling at the bounty of all their returned loot

Pulled on soft one by one, a shimmering ride to town boot

Lifted onto his left behind steed,  black hair gleaming with ransacked pomade

Now, a black haired fair faced pomaded maiden ready from inside to trade


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Fourteen 

In the land of ransacked, the small sisters lied head to foot piled into the bed back to back. As night fell across their packed rest the eldest fourteen at the best rose, washed at the basin and walked on arched feet out into the fog, hair like silken blanket on bared shoulders, into the street of calling customers, weeping confidential visions into her ransacked charms - as the night fell each one onto the other, into and out of her, as the eventual dawn fingered the sky - head high coins of trade pocketed she returned to the bed where small sisters stirred in still sweet slumber and picked a sticker from her shoulder licking the drop of blood from her salty finger tip.