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Poem

This gypsy soul is on the road
It leaves castles far behind
It abandons ghostly mist
which sabotages the caravan of life
It passes along the mountainside
 by golden hay fields where daises bloom
by stream  of waters which sweeps 
a withered rose
towards the decayed lumber flume
This gypsy soul is on the road 
from Edinburgh to Lochlomond
against high winds,against the rain
against aquatic monsters of pain
This gypsy soul is on the road 
to the woodlands of your heart
where I would camp inside your tent
as our blissful thoughts impart
This gypsy soul within myself
and all the woman in me
would wantingly await your fingertips
 to compose soft  pastel fantasy
The smell of early coffee
then fills our empty cups
The song of the cicada
 would echo in the shrubs
And as the chimney smoke
 drift sideways in the breeze
as warm dappled light filters
 through purple pansy leaves
The pressing of my lips
 would leave  their crimson  mark 
below your sun- kissed cheek
My arms would cling around
 your once a muscular physique
We laze upon a hammock
 strung between two old oak trees
I play on your guitar,my hundred melodies
As the incandescent  half moon
 rises above the dusky hue
and orange paper lanterns
 float high in cobalt blue
We'd chase the opalescent glow
 of a million firefly
You'd be able to touch me 
before last embers die
This gypsy soul is on the road
 in search to be set free
Across bridges,on a journey
your compass-my destiny.

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