This Gypsy Soul
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 streams of waters which sweep
all withered leaves 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 a guitar's melody.
The smell of early coffee
would fill our empty cups
The song of the cicada
echoes in the shrubs
And as the chimney-smoke
drifts side-ways in the breeze
As warm dappled light filters
through purple pansy leaves
The pressed rose of my lips
would leave its crimson mark
below your sun-kissed cheek
My arms would cling around
your once a muscular physique
We'd laze upon a hammock
strung between two old oak trees
I play upon your strings my hundred fantasies.
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'll be able to touch me
before last embers die.
This gypsy soul is on the road
in search to be set free
Across each bridge,on every journey
Your compass is my destiny.
A revised repost .
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