Plans

Eureka, eureka!  At last she knows.

the candle she holds is burning her soul

so she huffs and puffs to blow it right out

but magic, oh, magic, that candle, you know,

goes out for a time then lights up again.

And so to Plan “B” she makes all haste

but the pages are blank in her journal of schemes

and she knows, she does, to not ever dream,

so what, oh, what, is a gypsy to do?

She ponders and ponders the question at length

till finally, yes, she’ll tie up her mind

and pull and pull with all of her might

until time suffocates and everything dies.

But time, the devil, keeps marching on

so off to Plan “C” she makes her way

but the path is littered with sticks and stones

which don’t hurt soul as everyone knows.

Slowly, slowly, but gypsies must rest

and always, of course, hope for the best

but indeed she is most fearful to tread

on all those dastardly sticks and stones. 

One day, one day, she’ll fly overhead

when mind is released and everything’s dead!