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Gypsy Dance Is it the gypsy that sent me? Or did I hear a voice and answer its call? There was a ringing sound of bells and tambourines, The flash of black lace; Eyes shining out from olive-skinned faces; A laugh sliced through the violin. Whispers shouted and screams whispered, As naked legs raised high to kick away bad luck. A smokey haze swirled over the wagons. Black-bellied kettles perfumed the faces Of women bending down to blow the red hot coals. Dogs barked while I stood far off, watching. I snapped my fingers in rythm, Unaware that I did not belong. |
Additional Notes:
In Europe, you can spot gypsy camps in the woods or out in the countryside.
The mystery of who they are, their clans, their passions, their music make
me curious and mystefied. That is what I tried to express in this poem.
I hope I succeeded.
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