Gypsy Boy

The painted lantern circus
with the wagon swaying slowly
On a cold October morning
on a day that should be Holy.

Winding through the forest
as the Sun is just a breakin'
And I am only seven
and a gypsy in the makin'

The winds a blowin' through me
and the canvas flaps is tearin'
And the folks is talkin' low now
cause they don't want me to hear 'em'.

And uncle says there's trouble
with the bulls along the border
And I'm a wonderin' why
and a wishin' I was older

Many years ago it seems
and many songs ending
The wagon wheels is rustin'
and the axles is a bendin'

And I think its time to move now
but I don't know where I'm goin'
And I know it wont be long now
before it starts a snowin'

Babies cryin' softly
and the women are a sighin'
And somewhere in a wagon
there's a soul
it must be dying

Cause the drape is hangin black
from the window of each wagon
And we'll likely camp at sunset
so's the body can be buried

And though the carts will rumble
till there ain't no roads to travel
I listen to the grinding
of the wooden wheels on gravel

The sad songs and the old songs
will warm me and will hold me
And my head at last grows weary
as the arms of sleep unfold me

For I'm the gypsy boy
and my home is where you find me
I'm a gypsy boy
and my home is where you find me.

@
Bobby Blair
Written at about eleven years old.

Was this poem a prelude to the original songs
which later, were to pour from his heart?
Gypsy Boy  © 2000
Used with permission.

NEXT
(Black Shadow)
{Web Rings}                                      {New Pages}

© April 28, 2000

Thank you for being visitor number

  ©
Page updated and Counter added
October 14, 2000