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C.E. Skilling

Gypsies

A gypsies song has called me
softly on an evening breeze
as though a ripple in an ancient pool
before the winter there could freeze

It asked me of my intention
and also of my love
that I might sing this song of mine
skyward, as to a lovely dove

I remember the images
of the gypsy wagons of old
filled with their mystery and terror
as my grandmother told

“They’ll swoop down and get ya!”
she’d say with a gleam
and I would shiver and quake
hiding from gypsies in a dream

She told me not to worry
that dreams would pass and go
off into the four winds
as gentle breezes blow

A long time has passed
since I last quaked and dreamed
of gypsies in wooden wagons
while my grandmother gleamed