There's a gypsy in my blood
that wants to run the road -
that craves for open spaces
to that road my heart's been sold.
To hike the distant hills
to roam the wood and glade -
to view the snow-capped peaks
in this world that God has made.
There's a stirring in my soul
that seeks to ever travel -
on the asphalt or the dirt
or over crunchy gravel.
The pulse is beating fiercely
as across the maps I wander -
with stops to gaze at starlight
and the Milky Way to ponder.
There's a gypsy in my blood
that's content to do the walking -
with companion or without
that's less satisfied by talking.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The photo is taken atop the Mollogon Rim at 7,500 feet looking west toward Payson, Arizona,35 miles away.