Tuesday, March 24, 2020


The air is fresh and clean
and that gypsy over yonder hill
stares up above in wonderment
because she knows that way up there
magic has been made and despatched.

She cannot see it, no, she can’t
and yet it’s real and tangible
deep in her heart that’s been dismayed
and sunken in despair.

For everything there is a time
and this her time to receive
and she will breathe the fresh clean air
in gratitude and thankfulness.

And that time to lose too far away
to spoil her happiness
and she dances as all gypsies do
deep in the essence of herself.

No argument, no, not one
that she is free to be
unencumbered by the grief
and agony, heartache.

Remember, remember,
everything must pass
but always there is magic
that will make it come again.

Remember, remember,
help her to remember!