Nomadic Dawn
Nomadic Dawn
I wander with the gypsy caravans,
at daybreak drifts the scent of roasted young corn,
the fragrance of fresh goat’s milk,
dew chilled, a breath upon the budding flower…
And the burning sigh of the gypsy girl
scatters fledgling birds, whispering to the sun:
wait, just a moment, my sun…
For I long to kiss him, to be—
to be the deep seal of desire upon the neck
of my sovereign, my beautiful Gajo, my fairest king.
Ah, you know, my sun,
why I wander sleepless, dream-dazed,
a little drunk, enchanted by the roaming caravan—
I wish…
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