Travelling Gipsy With Rusted Wings Poem by Mark Heathcote

with rusted wings, she leafs through the valley
twisting & turning, she cannot find rest.
A social butterfly, no one sassy
she's been, around the block; sometimes, behest-
to sojourn here, there, smile, mingle & kiss
but she's never mixed in any circles
she wanted to stay; now hearts like a skiff
wants to push away, float on the surface.
Drift alone her, own way like a fog light
warning stays away, now, she's not, so young
and, looks are fading, she's an appetite
to balance her eternal yin & yang,
and put down permanent roots, settle down
sleep with one man, under one eiderdown.