A gypsy rests

Beneath the shade of present times

a gypsy rests her weary mind

and sighs the sigh of womankind

that through the ages sallied forth

o’er the hills and dales.

She packs and ties her chattels down

the same as once before

and checks the path that lies ahead

for pitfalls of the past.

There they are, there and there,

and, my goodness, even there

but she smiles the smile of womankind

because that’s what gypsies do.

She’s going back, back, back again,

to times before the gypsy blood

rose fulsome, free, in her psyche

and set her mind to wandering.

A gypsy rests; it’s meant to be
the end of all that should  have been!