A Small Seaside Village

In a small seaside village, where waves caress the shore,
Where hustle and bustle echo, tales of lore,
Men ply their trade, from honest to thieves bold,
Bread exchanged, from hands pure to hearts cold.

Pickpockets dance amidst the crowded streets,
Snatching fortunes with nimble, deceitful feats,
While fishermen, with weary arms and weathered face,
Sell their precious catch, their livelihood's grace.

Sailors from distant lands, their treasures unfurled,
Bring linen and wares, stories of a wider world,
The village, a hub of trade, with gold and minerals rare,
Exchanging wealth and dreams, a vibrant affair.

Woollen garments and sheep meat abound,
Sheep roam freely, mingling with the town,
Marketplaces teem, with bleating life and sound,
Where commerce thrives, in abundance unbound.

Yet, amidst this bustling, vibrant display,
A peculiar truth colours the village's way,
A government, absent, its presence unknown,
Leaving trade to flourish, with seeds wildly sown.

Each merchant sets their price, with risks they weigh,
A dance of supply and demand, day after day,
Except for one domain, the government's care,
The lumber market, untouched by thieving snare.

For the government's watchful eye, it seems,
Safeguards the lumber trade, a guardian of dreams,
While other sectors face pilfering hands,
The timber remains secure, in protected lands.

Thus, this seaside village tells a tale untold,
Where commerce and chaos, their stories unfold,
With a touch of anarchy, and freedom to trade,
The village thrives, its secrets well-made.