A Gypsy's Life By John Lars Zwerenz

A GYPSY'S LIFE A gypsy am I, as I rove on the downy dale; Aside from the taverns, the fields are my only vale. I drink from my carafe a fairy-fermented brew, And I dream of fair love, beneath a radiant sky of blue. I carry within my satchel a book of romantic rhyme; I wield it when I may, and write as I did of old: - Of a sable-haired girl, whose gaze is of a raven-gold. Her dress is white and long, and her hair is of an elysian clime. I am struck by visions beside the lane, On starry October nights, laved by the autumn rain, And I sleep beneath the myrtles, musing on her kiss. I have searched for her in ethereal bliss. I have seen her face in dreams, wandering on the shore, And the specter of her beauty, passing on the moor. John Lars Zwerenz