He rode the highways as a gypsy; never staying for too long;
And the women on the byways; would cry when he was gone.
His body moved to rhythms with a jagged sexual beat;
And the women that would dance with him; were encompassed by the heat.
His hair tied in a ponytail; with eyes a chestnut brown;
If you argued it was tooth and nail; with the words that he put down.
Riding in a caravan; while the bearded woman sings;
It soothed the monster in this man; till on the woman he saw wings.
Today he’s still the gypsy; but he’s old yet somehow new
And do you hope that some might see; that you want the same for you.
Copyright © Leonard Taormina