Gypsies Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

Serbia, Austria, Russia, Hungary,
There people have some moved here.
They travel in groups as a family.
It's others wealth they wish to share.

They travel to northern borders
Only in the summertime.
But when it's time for winter,
To Florida they make a bee line.

Known as a group as "Traveler's."
Their kids never go to school.
But they get educated
At using their parents tools.

You hear your doorbell ringing.
You open it to a man,
A little girl beside him asking,
" May I use your bathroom M'am? "

You spy a truck in front of your house,
With a topper right up to the cab.
The hood is up, looking broken down,
The little girl your jewelry has nabbed.

Another knock on another day
You go to your door and find,
A man with a truck load of asphalt,
Asking, "Can I pave your drive? "

It's a load of coal tar emulsion,
Which is covered with black paint.
They mix it in a barrel
With a hose and sand it's made.

Any place the elderly settle,
You will find these Travelers there.
I wish to warn all my neighbors,
To always be more aware.