Traveling People
The wagons are circled. The horses are tethered.
Shadows lay stretched the full length of the day.
Amid the aroma of canvas and leather,
Stew pots tempt children who’ve come out to play.
A violin voices the rhythm of camp life,
Upended barrels and planks set to dine
With plain cotton napkins and rough wooden dishes,
Brown barley biscuits and red country wine.
As echoes of laughter entwine with the music,
Threads of humanity coiled in a skein
Are weaving a fabric of simple contentment,
Feeling at home on an alien plain.
Then up springs a gallant Bohemian heathen,
Dressed for the party and ready to dance,
Enticing a woman to curtsey and join him,
Damask and silk with her heart left to chance.
They sway in the moonlight exchanging affections,
Embracing a common intent for the night,
Relieving the lonely routine of existence
And greeting together the next morning’s light.
The journey continues on toward the horizon,
Mountains and valleys swept level and clean,
Where all gone before and everyone after
Settle together unheard and unseen.
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