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
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