Monday, November 25, 2013

Rolling, rolling

The hills are rolling, rolling,
and forces on that gypsy
a sway and tilt, an upheaval,
she’d rather not endure.

Tied firmly as she is
to the seat of mortal life
she’s moving but not dancing
from morn until midnight.

And then there are the hours
when mind escapes the sway
and she wonders if she cries
sad or happy tears.

The hills are rolling, rolling,
and that gypsy gal is moving
until finally all is still
and she sleeps the sleep
of the well and truly dead!

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