For my Gypsy friends
I will leave the purring embers
to the nuzzling lover's lost care,
and join those more sensibly abed --
preparing for tomorrow's journey.
I wander dimly by moongift
to a haven not far away,
cocoon myself in old Lupo cloak
and leap into a waiting, cushioned bush.
Then I drift to dreams suspended
as one can only rightly be,
on the gentle branches of memories
and the lullaby of stream tinkled breeze.
Faintly, faintly I hear again
those scarf-stroked fire-shadow drums
and bright prancing heart-plucked mandolins
that tell me of gypsy spirit's yearning blood.
Come with me, my sons and daughters
to hidden camp at deer-trail cross,
and dare to listen -- never speaking
to dark eyes and vagabonds of the soul.