Baskadia

One day at a pet shop,

I met a man selling socks,

For money he wanted to swap,

But I really wanted some white fox.

"Got any white fox?" asked I.

"For that's how I'll spend my money."

"No white fox here!" said the guy.

He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely crisps,

I'll give you a very fine price."

"I'd rather have some wisps."

The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally energetic,

And his manner was strangely amused.

He wasn't what I would call electromagnetic,

Great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,

Some say I'm a bit tiny.

Still he gave me a courteous nod,

As if he thought I was plenty winey.

So in search of my goal I departed,

But before the pet shop could I leave,

The man came running full-hearted,

"I can help you I believe."

"Socks, white fox, you shall find.

Crisps, wisps, you can get.

You must now open your mind,

And get down to George St Market.

So to George St Market I decided to go,

In search of the white fox I craved.

The winds it did eerily blow.

But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling bricks,

Marbles in many shades.

There were even stalls selling power politics

People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,

She seemed to be rather tiny

I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.

I wondered if she was at all winey.

Before I could open my mouth,

She shouted, "For you, I have some white fox!"

I headed towards her, to the south,

Past some crisps and socks.

"But how did you know?" I asked,

"Do you want them or not?" she did say.

Silently, the white fox she passed.

Then vanished before I could pay.

As I walked away I hard a crackle

Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?