Song of a Sole Gypsey

No train after No caravan ahead Save the murky fleet of own reveries The melancholy Heard by none but mist Who always averse to clear his ways Wind played no violin No lone star to go along and light Moves the quite Nomad……… Debris of years past Wrecked ships past A sea sans chaos, dead, carries he! Lofty cliffs and soaking sands; Riches and rags; Partied with saints and sinners… Loved, hated, scorned and smiled-at Yet never let him say and heard Nor played his notes ever. A dustbin or a dusty tavern? He welcomed umpteen guests; Unending tales; Unquenched fires….... Strewn through streets As though an unbound diary Read by none Indeed, a diary may be read after its owner’s death.