A GYPSY GIFT
I remember when I was a child and the gypsies came,
Not vagabonds, but real ones with many a funny name,
I used to watch their neat caravans drive into the field,
Form a circle, what great skill and kindness they did wield.
Their horses were all loved, like being part of the family,
As I watched, some the children came and played with me.
I rode the horses and helped with chores and had fun,
It was like a big adventure to me after school was done.

My parents never minded me going with the gypsy folk,
My others friends called me silly, it was a big joke,
Me going off to their camp fire and eating rabbit stew,
They warned they would kidnap me, before I was through.

One year when times were hard and the gypsies came to town,
Most of the men looked troubled, on each face a sad frown,
Not all jolly and happy like all the years that went before,
There was very little provender, you could see they were poor.

Molly was my best gypsy friend, her feet were bare that day,
They were really cold and sore when she came to play,
I took her home and we went through all my belongings,
Socks and shoes and dresses, a nightie and other things.

That night old Reuben came to our home quite late,
He was the leader and this band, a man who was great,
Gratitude shone in his dark eyes, he wanted to thank me,
I’ll remember that handshake, as his love flowed free.

We gave them food and other clothes, a little money too,
They never begged , were always honest through and through.
As they were leaving, Molly whispered in softly in my ear,
“Put your shirt on ‘What No Sun’ Dad said he’ll win this year’
I told my Dad his eyes lit up he was not a real betting person,
But that night he placed a bet, on the outsider What No Sun.
That year was the best holiday the family had ever known,
At fifty to one that horse’s nose first was clearly shown.
My Dad made a killing and what a great holiday we had,
Just because I gave clothes to a friend who was poorly clad.

M Ann Margetson January 18, 2002