Gypsy

My home is narrow but stretches far,
Beyond the reach of my black eye,
Through mountain pass and clovered vale,
The jewelled traveller am I.

The night sky is my silvern blanket,
A waterfall my cooling shower,
A million steps recount my lifetime,
As wooden wheels the miles devour.

To pass my many cloistered hours,
As I drift onward, mile on mile,
I sing the songs of many colours,
Like an inverted rainbow smile.

And what becomes of all those songs,
That I would sing with such sweet ease?
Listen and you just might hear them,
Drifting on the breeze…

© Paul Ferry 2005

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