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The Last Dance of the Caravan: A Gypsy Tragedy
She wore a ribbon red as flame,
he carved her secret in his name.
They danced beneath the open skies,
with stars like lanterns in their eyes.
The campfire laughed, the horses swayed,
the fiddles sang while nightbirds prayed.
Their vows were stitched with whispered thread,
"Till death," they swore, "no tears to shed."
But Fortune's wheel turned rough and wild--
the lawman came to claim their child.
A fortune-teller saw too late--
the cards had sealed a crooked fate.
They rode like ghosts through iron rain,
the mountains swallowed up their pain.
Yet dawn betrayed their broken flight--
two shadows fell in dying light.
The caravan still hums their song,
a love too bright, a loss too strong.
And every fire that gypsies light,
still weeps for them across the night.
Some say when midnight paints the skies,
you'll hear their laughter where it lies--
two spirits twirling hand in hand,
forever free across the land.
Copyright ©
Alesia Leach
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