The sea has relinquished its salt
to a harvest, of crystals bedazzling,
and the pepper vines gave up their fruit
to baskets of hand-picked gathering.
Merchants are waiting in markets,
watching their black gold cargo,
scooping it,weighing it out to sell,
with its price a matter to argue.
Neighbouring mountains of white,
in bags, awaiting the measuring,
the packaging up to be sold,
for savoury culinary treasuring.
As salty hands haggle their sales,
and peppery cones change hands,
a foreigner comes, and a crowd draws round,
and he speaks by the merchants' stands.
Philosophers, merchants, alike
hear the story of the Jesus the Christ,
straining their ears as they listen,
while they measure, and weigh and price.
It's a tale of a resurrection,
of a man called the Son of God,
crucified cruelly, but living.
Some sneer, others silently nod.
In the market of bustling Athens,
by the pepper and salt merchants' stall,
the religious debaters take notice
of the godly preaching of Paul.
But the sellers are left wanting answers,
as the Greeks lead Paul off to tell more,
to the grandiose Areopagus.
Some believe, while some are not sure.
And the wizened salt seller is thinking,
the merchant of pepper is quiet,
wondering after Paul's message,
Could what he told them be right?
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