Seattle Pike Place Market
Among barkers and pitches and queries over price.
Prunes and potatoes and fish packed in ice.
A tiny man sat on a low stool
Lonely notes sounded, a string his tool.
One lone string sang strength and long-life,
And crossings and family and a well-loved wife
Of war and of peace
And of work without cease
In the market and deep in the throng
I heard clearly every man’s song.
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