In hills of mist, where market stalls convene,
A vibrant tapestry, a painted scene.
The air is thick with life, a bustling throng,
As mountain folk and vibrant colours belong.
A woman draped in scarlet, soft and deep,
With gentle eyes, a watchful silence keeps.
Her spirit anchored in the shifting light,
As shadows dance and markets take their flight.
Baskets balanced, burdens lightly borne,
Through paths of gold from early dewy morn.
The simple shelters huddle, rich in brown,
A timeless rhythm in this village town.
Blue mountains fade to skies of faded grey,
A quiet strength that marks the close of day.
This textured canvas, brushed with light and shade,
Where humble, human moments are displayed.
Port Pacquarie