The Gypsies

Summer, to me, was gypsy tents

That rose, like mushrooms, overnight;

Then campfires bloomed; wistful, I'd stand

Outside the circle of their light...

On lean, dark fingers, rings would flash!

I'd watch the whirl of calico,

Hear fiddles sing up to the stars,

And want a life I did not know...

My mother found me there, one night;

She licked me good, and sternly spoke:

"They milk our cows at midnight time...

Gypsies are thieves and dirty folk..."

(But how I wished they would steal me,

That I could sleep on summer ground,

And wear bright rings and calico,

And follow sun, the whole year 'round...)

Despite my many chores, I saw

The gypsies come again today;

Tight-lipped, I locked the stable door,

And saw my children stayed away.