As gypsies do

That gypsy looked as gypsies do

into the heart of silence

hoping there to see

golden threads of happiness

purported to be real.

Lo/behold, a mass of many colours

starting bold and vibrant

and ending pastel, dull

and she started to unravel

still hoping as all gypsies do.

Not here, not there, but somewhere, yes?

And she looked again as gypsies do

way beyond the pale

and there in quiet repose

cross-legged on the seat of time

sat pure happiness.

What time, what time, she didn’t know

there was no day, month, year

and she returned to move again

from here to there like gypsies do

unfettered and uncluttered.

No golden thread can be entwined

with the bold that turns to pale

but it is there waiting, waiting,

for the sure permanence

of all things combined!