Gypsy Blood Poem by cheryl davis miller

Daddy said he was a Gypsy
he loved to ride the rails.
He would fill our heads with stories
of his wild Gypsy tales.
The life had been passed down to him
tho his blood bore not a strain.
It was from birth that it began
Daddy oft times would explain.

October nineteen-twenty six
the thirty-first day he said.
Grandma's labor came hard and fast
she could not get out of bed.
The neighbor's boy, Otto was there
she sent him to find someone.
To come and help her for she knew
that day she'd bear her third son.

Old Doc was gone, the mid-wife too
Otto had searched far and wide.
Up the road he finally come
with the Gypsies at his side.
These two ladies with raven hair
and wild garb of ev'ry hue.
Grandma responded, ' Thank the Lord,
I am glad to see you two'.

They did not speak to much English
but poor Gram they still could best.
They knew about birthin' babies
nature took care of the rest.
When Dad was born the ladies spoke,
' ah Gloriosus Deo'.
Grandma smiled and said, 'You name him'.
They named him Carmen Leo.

That's why Dad thought he was Gypsy
he passed the blood on to me.
Though not a strain in the bloodline
in heart it shall always be.

c.d.m.7-11