With wagons rumbling down dirt roads,
Gypsies’ ponies pulling harsh loads;
Children, running, laughing, racing;
While dogs are barking and chasing.
With their bright and shining attire,
Girl’s black raven hair boys admire;
Tinkle-jingling jewelry galore,
And boys red cravats to adore.
Gypsies setting up camp for night,
The women start fires just right,
Cooking food’s perfume fills the air,
And ponies munch the grass so fare.
Like chickens, laughing as they munch;
Narrating ancient tales a bunch,
Telling incidents of the day;
Then dancing and singing away.
Now to the world of sleep and dreams:
Women clean the pots, a child screams,
Men yelling orders across the camp,
Then off to bed in wagons damp.
They sleep as stars twinkle and shine;
Ruffled hair from sleeping child fine,
Roaring, snoring old-grandpa men,
Whimpering babies now and then.
Gypsies now rise for a new day,
A life of wandering away;
To stay right here for some short while
Or going there a little mile.
Gypsies, that’s what Christians really are,
Wandering near and very far,
This world is not our residence;
But heaven with Jesus in confidence.
April 3, 2012
At age 14