The Gypsy Lady watches with finely honed skill,
all the certain nuances of every Jack And Jill.
She inherently knows much,from her own birth,
of unforeseen catastrophe and blessings un cursed.
She has an aire of mystery ,an economy of words,
offers only when she's asked,a soft voice never terse.
She looks into a palm, know each & every road,
inquisitors might ask, for whom the bell doth toll.
Born in a painted Gypsy wagon, a home on the road.
Velvet curtained windows,a Shire steed at the yoke.
Papa dances to music, mystic Momma runs a show.
Never lingers in one place, traveling's all she's known.
Sacred stones give insights, tea leaves mark a trail,
query this Seer, her priceless advice is for sale.
~~Suseann~~
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Beautifully done and I love the classic feel and lovely simplicity of this. It reads light and airy, yet speaks volumes. A gorgeous piece you've penned. I could read this over and over.
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There's a little Gypsy in us all.Ha! Thanks my friend.Glad you enjoyed it.
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Awesome!
Susanne, the imagery in this is vivid, imaginative, and abundant. What a "picturesque" portrayal of the life and soul of a gypsy. LOVE the subject, girl! How very creative of you. Great rhyme scheme, as well. Good use of laguage, both figurative, and vocabulary. Fantastic, my friend. Good luck in the contest, Susanne, though I don't believe it necessary Much love and laughter to you, sweetie. 
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SO SOOTHING AND BEAUTIFUL!
I closed my eyes and saw that gypsy wagon bounching down the road to a new place and new people. I could see the lady giving her advice to one who sat hanging onto each word.
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Beautifully done, my friend...simply beautiful.... Once a chinese exchange student reached across the Unviersity cafateria table and took my hand. She had me cup my palsm and then she closed her eyes and began a type of chant. Suddenly she closed myhands quickly and great tears ran down her face....she said she coudl no longer bear to see. She told me to make sure I had good support systems in midlife for I would need them. I let the niggling go and then, in midlife, I knew how to cling to those who cared to lift me from what she had seen. She was, in her way, a gypsy....a tiny little almost-english speaking gypsy.
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Thank you Shewolf for the story and commenting too. I had a school friend IN GRADE SCHOOL.Actually,my best friend as a child named Sharon Smith .She was of a family of Moorish Gypsies who worked and traveled in season with the Cory Circus Co. Patsy Cory also a friend to Sharon and I both.Patsy's family owned and operated the Circus. Anyway,Sharon's Mom was a Flaminco dancer with skills of Palmistry/Tea Leaf readings and other various talents attributed to her nature and trade.I'm pretty sure the Smith name was one used because of sociaties less than sterling opinions of circus people and Gypsies in paticular. Most were not well thought of because of lies for the most part spread about Gypsy lifestyle.I can attest personally as to the fact I've never known a more real ,decent compassionate group of people in my 57 years.Very moral,but very poor financialy.Seems general sociaty needs a scape goat for dirty deeds they commit themselfs. So who better to hang blame on than transiate folks who by nature assume guilt. Guilt because of language barriers and finanial class warfare was alive and well in the fifties in the good old USA.I cannot speak of course for all peoples of any one linage as a whole. But those I've known,I'd intrust my life with .I miss her friendship more than I can say.Loved her Mom too.Fasinating lady to say the least.My family moved to another part of town and although we tried to keep in touch,we evintually lost track of one another.Just a notation on where this piece is comming from.A long winded one! Ha! Sorry.
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