Down at the river where the water runs cool
that gypsy reclines in her love of you
gone now like the pebbles thrown in one by one
and the sink of each day’s so beautiful sun.
She remembers the ripples and how they flowed
outward, outward, until her face glowed
and how that light in the dark of her life
made everything be completely alright.
That was then but now after the fact
that bubble of love lies dormant and flat
and lives within the depths of her soul
with no conceivable life of its own.
She gathers more pebbles, awaits a new day,
but the call of the wild distinct in its way
makes her know to lighten her load
and set forth again on a new road.
But there in the fields where the gypsies roam free
there are no roads on which she can flee
but she moves, she does, until the sun sets
and she joins that bubble in heavenly rest!