Come dance by the Gypsy fire,” she said;
where the Sage speaks of forgotten words,
and candles play with mimsy shadows,
‘neath the Lotus Moon and your tears.
I finger ruby shoes round my throat –
a talisman of time’s tapestry;
extending my arms in expectation,
and clutch at her mem’ried melody.
Guitars purr in gossamer moonlight,
and my feet prance in driven dream –
and she glides with me in the glomming
while soft petals swirl in the night.