Gypsy Poetry
I no longer have a mother
Or a black-haired father.
I have been left alone
Like a fallen tree.
But that tree
Is not quite alone:
The cold wind blows
And touches its branches.
~anonymous gypsy poem written some time ago
Word has been sent to travellers that Gypsies are camped in a glade not far from the Lemurian Hermitage, upstream from the Abbey. Join them for good food, song and story-telling.
2 Comments:
A lovely, poignant poem. The gypsy life can be very hard, yet few of them would want to give it up. Thank you for posting this.
Haunting.
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