Comments about Gypsy Boy Varey
I hear the Goldfinch, and then I try,
To imagine the world, from a birds eye.
All through the day, up on the wing,
Oh, what joy, to hear her sing.
On wet summer days, you’ll hear me sigh,
Where is my friend, from way on high?
They sing only for the sun, so I am told,
These little wonders, in gleaming gold.