The Trail of the Gypsies

Nomadic tribes traveling along forgotten Mountain passes. A village built upon wooden wagon wheels. A homeless nation searching for a homeland That no longer exists. People cast asunder at the four winds mercy, Without roots safety line. Cultural diversity an unexceptionable social, Barrier to non-conform to the societies norm. Outcasts gypsies living on freedoms well worn Road. Dreaming of liberty's liberation from being Nothing more then dusts children, drifting As castaways upon hidden highways lost By ways. Beneath moonlights luminous glow, a canvas City comes alive. In abandonment’s empty fields a flickering firer Burns at twilight’s midnight hour Beyond no man's lands a nomadic people celebrate A moments peace. From those whom would destroy their way of Life and religious beliefs. Striking rosin to bow, the fiddler plays an ancient Tune. While voices sing of an easier time, a simpler Peaceful way once lived. Mankind's kindred spirits wishing for a sanctuary, Clinging to idealism, that one day they will find A home at last. Just a piece of earth all their own, to rest at peace, Somewhere it does exist. In such a world created by an everlasting being, An Eden calls to them. Until then the gypsy dance continues, and there Voices shall be raised on high. But at sunrise nothing is left but the cuts in the road, From creaking wagon wheels. And glitters dust left behind along with a lingering Dreaming, The echoing songs from a nomadic people, who belong No where but the open plains. God's lost lambs searching ever seeking freedoms road. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN .