Around ghostly campfires gypsy women take to dance,
Wearing sheer veils & long skirts swaying as if in a trance,
Their beauty is on display; while they clang their bells,
Singing & playing tunes with stories to tell,
Fortune tellers offer up their secrets & tales of old;
While some mysteries from ancient times do unfold,
The music & gaiey from the muscians entertain & romance us;
As if casting a spell on our senses,
We are captured by the rhythm of their life;
And for a time they ease some of our strife,
'Children of the Wind'....they are so named,
Once they have shared their gifts with us....we are never quite the same.
Spiritsong
Sept.9/10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem