Is there such a thing as destiny
or do we but drift and die, haphazardly
Mother, father, sister, brother
friends and others, lovers
Finding out very recently
understandably; remarkably
that I may have some Gypsy blood in me
Or if that is not a “politically correct” thing to say
then come what may
Call me a nomad, vagabond – I’ll be what you say
You see my infatuation with Gypsy charms
Magic Tarot; destiny
A palm reading chart in a locket round my throat
Mystery
Heady days, running on auto pilot
twisted thoughts seeking devotion
a broken paddle pulling the weight of the ocean
while longingly I miss a homeland:
Of mountain and sea
an Italian grotto, complete with statuary
or a Greek brigade heading through the night
a glittering Gypsy caravan
filled with laughter and light!