There 'nce was a public square,
You could find all the merchants there,
Hawkin' all their wares,
"Come buy, come buy!"

They had a panoply of treasures,
Variety w'tout measure,
You could sate any errant pleasure,
"Come on by, come on by!"

But one fragile mornin',
The sky opened w'tout warnin',
The square flooded from the stormin',
"We're stayin' dry, stayin' dry!"

When the merchants came emergin',
They found floodin' beyond purgin',
And all their stalls submergin',
"Tell us why, tell us why!"

Now,
The only wares to buy in the square; brackish water,
And the occasional piece o' flotsam that washes by.
Dry land in the square is but a memory,
And still none are able to 'splain why.

Where now do the curious find their baubles?
With our treasures drowned in turgid flow.
Perhaps they make their own,
Hand crafted in their home.
Or perhaps they go without,
What a hell of a way to go.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Scarlatan, in the year 1004 AF.