Lemurian Gypsy Camp

The Gypsy Tree

They have returned!
The slow creaking meadow ruts,
and careful pitted fire –
a gleaning of discarded branches –
ahh –
like a comb through raven hair
I am cleansed!

Laughing children in my arms –
weary comfort from the sun;
and I wait …

Shadowed moonlight needs no lanterns –
barefoot prancing,
swirling maidens,
ribald stories – finger pointing –
yes they will come.

Glowing embers – banked for dawning,
a couple yearning –
two as one.
Between my gnarled roots,
against my ancient bosom,
they sway to my heartbeat –
and I can dance again.