12/07/2025
This poem was sent to us last night by a prior vendor, whose daughter wrote it. They have shopped every year at Vintage in Verdi, and this was incredibly special to receive last night! It’s a core memory! ♥️
’Twas the night before Verdi, when all through the town,
Not a shopper was stirring, the booths all shut down.
The treasures were stacked in their crates with care,
In hopes that the early birds soon would be there.
The vendors were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of bargains danced ’round in their heads.
And Mom with her list, and Grandma with flair,
Had been planning our route with meticulous care.
When out on the road there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tripped over my tote bag—my future junk stash.
The moon on the signs of the market below
Gave a glimmer of welcome, a warm festive glow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But memories of Verdi from year after year:
The antiques and the crafts, all perfectly old,
The jewelry that sparkled like stories untold,
The “junk” that we swore we did not need to buy—
Yet somehow it followed us home, by and by.
With Mom at my left and my Grandma beside,
We wander the aisles with unstoppable pride.
Each booth calls us closer, each trinket we see
Feels like part of the magic of our family.
We barter, we laugh, we explore every stand,
Digging through treasures by heart and by hand.
And though every season the market may change,
The joy that it brings us will never feel strange.
So here’s to the morning, so merry and bright—
To hot chocolate in hand, to first-pick delight,
To memories gathered like snowflakes that swirl…
Happy Verdi to us—three lucky girls.
