The following poems were all composed by The Gypsy Poet/Ray Wills.
POETRY BASED ON THE GYPSY LIFE HEATHLAND POETRY gypsy chatter
i rode those gypsy caravans where the trails were wild and the journey's long i watched the swirling reels of rhymes the wheels that spun and the poets vines i stumbled through their tales of woe their sodden rides where willows grow where eyes of destiny saw through trees brambles that caught ones hands and knees i listened to the folki lore those tales of old like days before where sparrows flew upon the downs where gypsy folk were bedded down i saw those fairground roulette's spin those darts that flew o'er every whim i heard their chatter each new line their jests and spin like hands of time i walked those tracks o'er meadows sweet where berries grew above my feet where rabbits ran and foxes chased where plough was rich and life's no haste i heard their laughter and saw their pain their tears of joy like once again where cock did crow and cows did graze where pony's ran and boy did laze the gypsy reels and folki lore told tales of life no eyes deplored and yet it richness was divine afore the bricks and mortars zine
TWO SISTERS
two sisters philanthropist's came to wallisdown granted love to gypsies where they bedded down the woods were full of pigeons where the rabbits all ran free along the heath lands o'er the moors where brickyards grew so mean
the walks were wild with bracken where the gypsies roamed for free two sisters built their village as an ode to history.
ROVING GYPSY
they said he was a gypsy because he had that roving eye he wandered like a free bird soaring in the sky he talked to kings and peasants always just the same they said that he was beautiful but they didn't get his name
he wandered over lancashire and skipped down in the delphs his friends were very many though he didn't have no wealth he strolled along the highways where the traffic did not roar he was a vagabond and troubadour like they'd never known before
his heart was in the right place and his soul was rich in verse he could recite good poetry though his lines were rough and course he sauntered through the valleys amongst the briar's and thorns he was a happy traveler with his vardo and his horse
he told your stories and his words were set in stone with meaning and sweet metaphors that danced and skipped and roamed his clothes tr hey were cosmopolitan and his accent didy coy he was a fairground traveler with a twinkle in his eye
Dominic reeves
Dominic came to kinson downs where gypsies bedded and young girls were heaven bound the wheels did turn there and times were tough on the common land of peat and bluff he road the trails of bracken down where birds did sing o'er rabbits mounds where folks worked hard when hours were long amidst the days of swallow song
where Mountbatten arms doth stand today afore shoulder of mutton along the way where birch did grow amidst heathers sweet with adder n lizards at your feet near alderney where john did paint naked ladies so frequaint
where sankey ward built houses for the rich and lady wimbornes lodge was close to pitch the writer stored his memories of gypsy life neath sky and trees where crafts were rich in lore and pen where kids grew tall and fern did bend
the local people in kinson free where rich in style and histories the longham bridge over the stour to ferndowns haunts and village squires the war had took the youth its true with tales of valor from Waterloo
the commons rich in gravel clay and stone but to the gypsy it was home where grass was mean and trails were sand and fortunes told to open hands where families came from forest glades to build their homes n get it made
Dominic wrote and his wife did paint the gypsy story oh so quaint till they were all housed on west Howe land with bricks of rogers builders band the chimneys grew tall upon the land and pigs were sold in markets grand the gaffers paid you on the land and the rich grew richer you understand
those days of gypsy life so free were recorded there in histories with Dominics books of fame and lore he painted it as it was after the war the gypsy families are still abroad you can hear them sing with one accord their heather sprigs are sold today in Poole high street just like twas yesterday.
flower girls dreams
you'll see them there on Saturday's outside the towns great store baskets full of daffodil's and roses by the score their braided hair and darker looks with dresses oh so gay from heather sweet terrain they came to while the hours away
their dialect course with melody though their words were plain they spoke the true Romany like children once again they promised wealth good health and more to people passing by with smiles to warrant fortunes gain and wisdom in their eyes
their homes of vardos on the heath and songs of yesterdays with accordion playing songs of love and rabbits in the hay with ponies small and dog packs calls heathers sweetly laid amongst the hills where myxomatosis killed the food of yesterday.
BEFORE THE HOUSES From bourne valley bottoms along the dirt track the caravans rumbled to lodge hills and back through hedges laden with bramble and gorse lovely chestnuts to nibble with our little horse
there at coy meadows we drank from the streams little fresh springs and wonders to dream there were gypsies at Beale's in town today wel tell you your fortune then be on our way
the village kids saw us and give us the eye our caravan homes smoked right up to the skies with rabbits to ferret and hedgehogs to eat songs around the campfire and family to meet
the wheels rolled there daily and the stars shone at night there were folks in their glory and clothes to delight there was food on the table and rugs on the floors the candles were lit and designs on our doors
the music we played there with accordion Joe's the songs that we sang were older than dough there were times which were hard then and folks who did stray but we were far wiser than many today
the grass grew so course and the daisies were spread like creation was labeled for the good and the dead the queen of the gypsies was dark and so rare she had braided long hair and spent days at Poole fair
the wagons were rich and the lamps they were gold the children danced naked upon their tip toes the chaffinches sung at the break of the day as we ambled along with our stories to say
now there's just tarmac and tower park ridge where once there was magic with old uncle Sid they lived on the heath then when the land it was free before lord guest sold it for houses for thee.
QUEEN OF THE KINGS
she was a gypsy sweetheart one time queen of the kings she rode the canford commons she made the starlings sing
she was beautiful when she was young she made the young heads turn she was a rare breed gypsy girl within the heathers and the thorns she rode the caravans of wood then the wagon wheels did turn
she danced and sang a melody she made the young men yearn then when she was older she lost her young good looks her darkness held her lines of age she made children feel disturbed
she was the queen of Gypsy she died upon the heath she was buried in her wagons flames with her belongings and her teeth
her funeral was attended by hundreds of her clan she was the queen of Gypsies mother of the gypsy man
she was the queen of the kings the newtown clan gypsy family she grew up wise in tooth and wisdom when i was a kid she was so kind to me.
WHEN WAGONS ROLLED
the ponies did graze and the fires did roar never seen the likes of them ever before when peat was cut out and broom it was rich folks lived on the heath lands close by the mire ditch
the foxes and rabbits were sure everywhere there were gypsies and tinkers and hawkers beware they worked on the land and they worked on the fairs the music it played and there were sights everywhere
the Arnold's and dibbens lived in west Howe there's many descendants you can find them right now old moochy matcham and Farrel's were in wareham town the whites were spread out in each dorset town
the co operative was given as recreation land we ran with the dogs with our ferrets in hand the round table was used for darts at posh school our ganders went walking Wallis downs near Poole
the Talbot's owned land all over the place jack futcher drove a digger and had a red face the squires lived in ole Poole where they just had gas light the wagon wheels rolled by day and by night.
TRAVELLING DAYS
There were gypsies on the sand dunes before Blackpool golden mile was born there were Gypsies on the lodge hills near Poole when farms were planting corn there were gypsies in their caravans and in their tents so mean with lights a burning bright each night all full of kerosene
there were ponies on the hillsides then and donkeys on the sands there were fairground cars to ride and more with big top traveling bands those fortune telling ladies on the pier did often stand with their cards of tarot destiny and with silver in their hands
all the belly dancing ladies and the singing baritones with the dancing of the festivals and the wagons rolling home there was work out in the fields then with the fruit picking every day with the singing of the gypsy gals and guys each working holiday
each year the traveling circus came to call with big top and the clowns with horses bred and braided well and there was hay upon the downs the crowds were all a thronging and the lights were shining bright these were tales to tell your children when the gypsies were in sight
there were belly dancing ladies with earrings and bright gowns with their castanets and tambourines jingly and the accordion's gay sounds there were gatherings on the hillsides then and merriment when the traveler's came to call with their Roma ways and dialect like gents and ladies at a ball.
WHEELS A TURNING
He had romany genes like a poor diddykai he wandered this world as his dreams flaoted by his wheels kept a turning though no end was in sight as he counted his fortune with the stars of the night
his dreams full of laughter and his past full of pain hed travelled this world down old memories lane hed sat with the pedlars and sang their refrains as he skipped down the highways of memories lane
the brambles did tear one and the rabbits did run the daisies were spread there with the fear of the gun the chimneys were tall then and the bricks they were clay the soldiers of fortune returned there to tell of those days
the caravans stretched there through old heaths of poole where children once played and the boozers were full old wally watton picked fag ends each day whilst the farmers daughters rolled around in the hay
the pigs went to market and the sheeps in the corn the claypits were hot then and the clay it was born there were lodges at wallisdown of good lady guests whilst sam stanley was young and twer no high fence
the lodge hills told stories were foxes did run where farmyards were spread and you heard the thrush song the gypsies were rich and their vans were so rare the girls all looked buxom with long flowing hair
john augustus paints pictures of young ladies bare whilst the wheels kept a turning and we went to poole fair
GYPSY ROVER
They said he was a gypsy because he had that roving eye he wandered like a free bird soaring in the sky he talked to kings and peasants always just the same they said that he was beautiful but they didn't get his name
he wandered over lancashire and skipped down in the delphs his friends were very many though he didn't have no wealth he strolled along the highways where the traffic did not roar he was a vagabond and troubadour like they'd never known before
his heart was in the right place and his soul was rich in verse he could recite good poetry though his lines were rough and course he sauntered through the valleys amongst the briar's and thorns he was a happy traveler with his vardo and his horse
he told your stories and his words were set in stone with meaning and sweet metaphors that danced and skipped and roamed his clothes tr hey were cosmopolitan and his accent didy coy he was a fairground traveler with a twinkle in his eye.
hatchin tan
they built them there a hatchins tan with concrete base and barbed wire surround no more were they a free race lore with open Sky's and heather floor now they partook the gorja ways so its kushti bok and taxing days no more the traditions of the gypsy clan for now they twer part of the master plan the 1994 act was introduced to rob them of their rights and truce each one imprisoned like a criminal for their nomadic ways like a fortress camp in a Freeman's grave the traditional skills were just old hat their weaving baskets and ladies hats no more the land to plant n sow with ponies braided for to show still the dreams live on in Romany like the life of the poor old didikie where wagons rolled and stories told in the past down gypsy roads.
JUMPING THE BROOMSTICKS
Rosie jumped the broomstick upon a frosty morn whilst birds were singing in the trees and wishes all twer born a frog he croaked his story and the springs did run on bye there twer squirrels a rushing up the trees and a lonesome tramp passed by
there twer days of merriment and gay long afor the days of war when soldiers fought for what was right upon old Flanders shores they fought for king and country then with rifles tall n mean n bored there were sparrows in the hedge grow then and the pots were full of beans the vardos were so splendid with steps up to the doors
twas a splendid scene with ornate lamps and tapestry like you'd never seen afore the dogs were barking down the lanes where heathers stretched to Poole where local men and gentle folk all said howd ya do
the mushers went to market then and the gaffer took you in with jobs for the lonesome vagabonds and pennies to buy your gin the markets were full of hectic pace and all loud hawkers cries there twer rows of clothes and stalls of cows and things to catch your eye
the church bells chimed and the groom did sigh as he kissed her on the green where wild roses grew upon the trees and the past was left behind.
KINSON GYPSY DAYS
At sugar knob mountain by monkeys hump lanes the children kept goats on long iron chains in cinders town near frying pan the children danced when rabbits ran
the gypsies came to wallywack above high moor folks had never seen their likes before their caravans were decked with lace with polished glass to see your face
there were so many gypsy camps folks said they traveled from over France hemley bottom was home of kings Sherwood's and whites remembering
at bribery island folks did vote to keep their homes n keep the quotes lady guest did rent them out to local lads with digger shag and baccy snout
the upper class gypsies lived in Wolsey road the spinning tops were busy side of the roads the rag men came with their heavy loads at least that's the stories what we've been told.
THE GYPSY POETS
the old gypsy poets they lived on their wits they lived off the land and on pony's did sit they rode the roads daily and sang of the day when the rabbits did run and twer hares in the hay
the old fairground great wheel keeps spinning around with the lights and the music the organs sweet sounds the darts they did throw and the cars they did roar when the stars were a shining the nights on the moors
the old songs are best our granfer did say that twer good in the brambles where rabbits did play where church bells did ring to welcome the day as the gypsy wrote verse and went on his way.
country life and gypsy lore
In country life and gypsy lore when skies were blue and trees were tall when farmers locked their pens at night with young men's bodies full of sprite
on heather-ed down and village green where artists bold would paint the scene where baccy pipes and fire lights glow would lighten our world in times of snow
when country lass and laddies danced upon the green to true romance where bells did ring each Sunday morn where birds did sing and love was born
where orchards branches hung with fruit where daisy chains and lilies roots where tractors rolled across the downs where vardos spread their ways around
the gypsy queen smoked her clay pipe for free whilst one could hear the buzz of bees with scent of heather gorse and fern where sheep did wean their lambs just born
the old town clock struck each hour within streets of ancient histories towers whilst school kids ran to greet each day whether back at school or holiday
in country life and gypsy lore the artist poet went to war with easel's brush oil and plan whilst the poet etched the world of man
when life was rich in time and space where each young man did know his place where rivers flowed through country scene from springtime joys to Halloween.
vardo days
i once had a vardo and its wheels they did roll and spin i ride it to ringwood and the dorset great show in the spring my father boxed at the fairgrounds to queensburys rules oh the days they were long then when we lived down near poole i once had a wife she was dark and so wise she sang to the birds and had sparkling green eyes she would tell folks their fortunes so gorgas beware dont pick all the heathers from poole baskets fairs we worked in the meadows and down at the quay for many long hours and we drank beer by the sea the lights they did shine there and the stars they did glow when we danced in the night whilst the old uns did sew though those days have long gone and our masters have too i remember the days long ago when we camped near sea view there were cones on the hillsides and boats in the bay the constitional hill was so steep and our lives were so gay our homes they were rich then with satin and lace with tattoes and artwork all over the place our lamps they were gold and our talk it was free when we lived by our wits and were true romany.
gypsy fortunes
Those gypsies ladies with their heads hung down the tarot readings and the words that show no frown the i ching coins jingle and the roulette spins they'll tell your fortune from the mood your in
they'll read the lines there in your hand they'll look inside the heart of man their intuition and their dark dark eyes the romance is burning in the lore and wise
the headdress ladies with their astral plains they'll thumb the stones and grant you love or pain their caravans all laden with sheeky satin sheets their lamps all lit from their body heat
the signs and wonders and the stars at night the horoscopes and cards that flow just right they take your silver and your chance of luck they hoodwink many for the common buck
the music plays like Egypt's theme Indian Sanskrit's and melodic reams the nights of starlight and the days of chance just take the heather sprigs sir and stir romance
the queen of gypsies thumbed the orient pack she'll spread those cards and then hit the sack the night time fancies have all flown away in the gypsies world of chance and play.
ROMANY ROOTS
He had traveled through those Romany roots where cultures and heartaches were seldom foolproof he'd walked o'er the footpaths where thorns tagged your toes where rabbits and foxgloves bridled your clothes
he'd stumbled on wise folk who'd been through the wars when peace was a haven and Truth was ones word his clothes they were tattered and his language was rich he'd laid in the gutters the sideways and ditch
the lore of his nation was caste to the winds where freedom was gifted with Romany rings where the sun hit you blindly each morning at dawn where the heavens were open and your ways were forlorn
the paths that had ventured o'er valley and dale with scent of the flower and the rich golden smells where your fortune was told through the wink of an eye where fairgrounds were rolling and spirits were high
like days long ago when the soil was rich they traveled their wagons through mud and low ditch where heather and fern stretched for many a mile where the Romany roots were a haven a while where the man was renowned for the good in his smile.
travelling on
They call them the kiers or ole didey kye some call them kackers or travelling dye with their travelling ways n that look in their eyes dont trust their talk or their promises true for their blarney n ways are far wiser than you
they branded and scorned them and sent them away far from the heath lands and the places they played with their benders and var-dos all there on display they lived on the moors and the forests they say
they worked on the land and they styled their own craft with bracken and peat and heather and laughs they told you your fortune and went on their way and they gave up their youth for a soldiers poor pay
the times they were hard and the laborer's made bricks to build the new railways and the tracks for to fit they worked in the fields for the farmer and squire then they went home at night to their gypsies campfires
they sang of the good times when rabbits ran free when the foxes were plentiful and roamed the country the heather was rich then and the gorse it was thick where broom grew with nettles and they coiled wood stick's
their songs they were rich in folklore tis true with chaffinch and goldfinch in harmony too the blackbird sang daily and the hare it did play across the country so young then amidst cowpat and hay
THE GYPSY STORY TELLER
The gypsy story teller he could tell a yarn chickens in the alleyways and cattle in the barn there were vardos on the hillsides and benders on the downs groups of chavvies running free and the queen she wore a crown
the heaths were wild and full of broom with yellow scented furze there were rabbits in the mead there and foxes for to curse the pegs were made of wood then and the heather for your luck there accordion's were playing and the horses they did buck
the hills were full of beauty and the downs were rambling runs there were chapels full of local folk and ladies hair in buns the yokel talked in durzet tones and told a yarn to all the gypsy story teller lived upon the moors
the gypsy story teller could tell a yarn or two about gypsy kings and queens and local yeomen too the hurdy gurdy played a tune in towns then far and wide with barefoot chavvies running free and broomstick gypsy brides
the Kings and Castle families with Jeff's and whites in tow old sankey ward built houses and Trent's sold cars and loads the gypsy story teller told tales of long ago when gypsies roamed this land and toffs their wealth did grow
the gypsy story teller told yarns to children small old folks and families alike awaken to the call the vardos decked in artistry and wooden steps to sit whilst pots and pens were full of grub for little mushes lips.
ODE TO THE GYPSY POETS
S
Ode to the gypsy poets with their transcipt words of rhyme to the heather and the corn field the barley and the vine
ode to the makeshift homes there where the sun came up each day where the rabbits and the foxgloves greets each new spring borne day
ode to the routes they travelled with their wayward caravans with the light of god to guide them with fate to take their hand
ode to the land that breathed there the willows and the oak the songs they sang at daybreak the natures brand new coats
ode to the Gypsy language the lore and dreams they told the fortune telling ladies the lamp stands made of gold
ode to the labor's offered the fairgrounds and the dust the many heartaches suffered the romance and the lust
ode to their weary burdens their skills that were renowned the sands of time will comfort them in God we know they trust
ode to their intutitions their wisdom and their joys the children full of laughter the dreams of girl and boy.
gypsy boy
old paddy was a gypsy and he came from liverpool he strummed the songs of Dylan from bovington to poole old paddy wore along coat and grew his hair so long he slept out in the open and his songs went on and on
old paddy was a gypsy a roving all the day he walked the hills of purbeck and watched the lambs at play old paddy he was irish rich and dark and true he had the gypsy life blood and he came from liverpool
old paddy joined with our gang when we slept out on the moors underneath the heavens where the starlight changed us all old paddy was a rover and a gypsy through and through he had no real belongings and just one pair of dark black shoes
old paddy sang at breakfast beneath the old oak tree he strummed his guitar there daily and crooned away our blues old paddy he was handsome and caught the ladies eyes he twinkled in the starlit and his words were old and wise
old paddy he was gypsy and walked the gypsy trails his anthems they were scouser tales and his visions they were wise he talked with us that summer than in autumn he was gone like the springtime flowers blooming and the thrush with his sweet song.
BORN TO BE A TRAVELLER
I was born to be a travellin man with my reins held tight in my free right hand i was born to roam the country with my vardo on bright n gay my family in my tuck board and my life all on display
I was raised out in the country where the foxes all run free where theres primrose on the hillsides and the air belongs to me
The gypsy way of life so grand with our songs of freedom sung our stories yarns and tales be told from old uns to the young
the countryside still calls me with my wandering gypsy ways travelling on lifes highways with familly and friends
those days may well be over when us gypsies all ran free all across Gods country amongst the birds and bees
but wel treasure all our heritage count our blessings too whilst gorgas taunt us daily and squander their rights too
free ways no more
They hung the poor gypsies or sold them as slaves they tortured them daily from birth to their graves they sent them to prison and to the US of A then they gave them some land but made them work for their pay
they marked them with signs on their head and their breasts just because they were different and not like the rest with rings on their fingers and dark shiny hair their music was rich and they went with the fairs
they gave them sites in the war years when they fought for this land then they moved them on with after their ponies and bands they made them take houses and give up their ways to live in this country for the rest of their days.
gypsy man Heres to the gypsy and the olde caravan the ways of the rover and the travelling man heres to the heathers and the sprigs for your hand heres to the ways of the travelling man
heres to the flower girls on the road heres to the ponies and the carts with its load herew to the willow and the birch on the hill heres to the joys of the fairgrounds and wheels
heres to the singing of the old songs once more heres to the sands and the tents on the shores heres to tha sands and the fortunes to sell heres to the rovers and the sea foams and swells
hers to the roads that were hard it was true heres to the tracks made from fleeets road to poole heres to the gypsies and their caravans the old ways were best and the songs that they sang
heres to the tin cans and the ferrets in hand the rabbits on heath and the foxes oer lands heres to the swagger and heres to the tans the richness of life of the old gypsy.
CAROLINE HUGHES
Do you remember the Dorset Gypsy poet Queen with her words of love she set the scene the caravans gathered on the old wareham bye pass with their homes of freedom and their wheels on grass
the view of canford hills of lodge the windy tracks on the land of God she wrote the anthems and the folk trail ends where the dartford warbler thrilled around each bend
they came to visit her the young and wise with the dust of love within their eyes she played and sung the words of rhyme memories of another age another time
the Seegers came to bend their ears the sixties vogue in the protest years the traditions streteched and the words were wise they crafted melodies and turned the tide
the Dorset gypsy queen of poetry sat and talked amongst birch white trees the guitars strummed and their voices thrilled amongst the campfires lit and the rolling wheels
the Manning's heath just a stone throw away where as a child i ran and played t he music lived within their hearts the gypsy song and the horse and carts
then the master artistes performed her songs the gypsy queen with lilt so strong the heathers bend and the lizards squirmed amongst the adders and fast slow worms
gone are the travellers who played that day amongst the gorse on the great highway. DORSET COMMUNITY ACTION
Old Louie
Louie Foot the gypsy rode an old Ford T she was a real coolest lady you ever did see
she gave lifts to the clan through rossmore steep hills n lanes services through alder hills to upon hill n back again
Ted Sherwood was the boxing king he was a true preacher diddy coy he won so many lonsdale belts first won coconuts at Poole fair shies n gave foes a black eye
Mrs bonham Christie was a sad recluse on brownsea island shores she had a wicked gun they said she fired it all twelve bore.
CHAVVY DAYS
Oh the chavvy days on Canfords heath where us zunner kids did cut out teeth whilst wagons rolled and vardos roamed amidst heathered bracken and fern rich home
Oh the nights were cold upon the down of wallisdown and kinson town where Whites and Turners came to call Coopers Kings and chavvys all
the pylons stretched for many a mile from cuckoo bottom to home of lady Guests attire
where rabbits frequented the fern rich downs whilst fox did hide high above the crown
Augustus john did sketch the zunners sweet whilst lady Mary clapcott stretched with beauty down to her naked feet
newtown zunners under wimborne bridge collected falling coins from kings rich carriages
the hills of canford magna rich in rhoedenrun ditch the flowers of the lily spread
where heathers sweet aroma rich the cans and tins of yesterday amidst the smoke of clay pipe days where chavvys sported catapult and net for rabbits rich in lorded debts
the run of hills and trees so rich with blossom scents and caravans unhitched the songs of piano accordian darky echoed free from wallisdown to alderney
whilst zunners ran and chavvys played upon the heaths just yesterdays.
GYPSY TRAILS
I chanced pon the gypsy trail where heather grew and trees were swell i saw them gypsy caravans heard the songs of the gypsy man
the skies were blue and grass was green the tracks were narrow pon country scene where ducks in flight flew across the downs where the gypsy pack were bedded down
oftimes i took that gypsy trail where life was rich in wishing wells where gals were dark and bonny too from old Poole lane to Waterloo
the dogs gave chase to rabbits tails where foxes graced the springing wells from dew of morn to twilight's dusk where moon gave chase to star lights glow where bare chest men graced gypsy shows
all along that trail i roamed where rabbits scurried down their homes afore the mornings light explored the freedom life of the Gypsy's world.
GYPSY LIFE
They hid within the shadows where the sun had gone to rest their seasons were enchanted and their clothes all Sunday best
their heartaches were all numbered and their dreams were satisfied they hid their dreams in baskets far from others wandering eyes
the tree were high and covered in fir cones and true grit their campfires were a welcoming with their ashes warm and lit
their shawls were woolly comfort and their smiles were rich in Grace they wore the look of freedom and had that grin upon their face
their vardos were rich in crafted skill and flowing art without whilst the wooden steps that led inside were hard and trimmed with grout
the rooms were cosy and set in comfort zone with lamps of brass and wicks so trim
i can still hear their plaintiff gypsy reels the songs they sang were handed down like the clothes their children wore they'd traveled through the dirt and land through many many wars
their refugee foundations were set in history like the wishes and the spinning wheels and the tarot revelry
the sands of time enriched their lives like the spirit intuitively they set their store upon goodwill and they set their store for thee
their ponies all were bridled and their dog packs all ran free they lived upon the heathered heath just a stone throw from me.
LOOKING FOR THE GYPSIES
I went looking for the gypsies down some old winding country lane way out in the outback where few folks goes again
i took some notes to read there a guitar for to play far out in the heather land many miles away
the rain it was a falling the wind it blew a gale there were shadows on the rocks and hills goldfish in a jar
i heard the wind a playing same sad old gypsy song way back in my memory from the days that long since gone
i strolled o'er all the footpaths where the gypsy folks had been stumbled on a few tin cans plus a empty jar of gin
i saw traces of their footprints horses hooves and more dirt cart tracks where love had rolled where young men went to war
i counted all my blessings granted all my hopes squandered all my dreams on nowt but women and rolled dope
the gypsy maiden comforted me with that look within her eyes as she rubbed that fortune tellers glass then looked into my palms
the stories i could tell you would turn the other cheek with laughter and good living they got by week to week
i can still see all their wagons as if twer yesterday like a big wheel on the fairground you could hear that Ferris play
the gypsy folk were noble with Romany roving eyes they traveled on the freeway had no stately ties
i can hear the wind a blowing way out on the heaths where the gypsy folks lay sleeping and the warbler chirped in reach
i can feel the mood that moved them as they lay their in their beds underneath the blanket night where the stars shone overhead.
ROMANY ROOTS
He had traveled through those Romany roots where cultures and heartaches were seldom foolproof
he'd walked o'er the footpaths where thorns tagged your toes where rabbits and foxgloves bridled your clothes
he'd stumbled on wise folk who'd been through the wars when peace was a haven and Truth was ones word
his clothes they were tattered and his language was rich he'd laid in the gutters the sideways and ditch
the lore of his nation was caste to the winds where freedom was gifted with Romany rings
where the sun hit you blindly each morning at dawn spring where the heavens were open and your ways were forlorn
the paths that had ventured o'er valley and dale with scent of the flower and the rich golden smells
where your fortune was told through the wink of an eye where fairgrounds were rolling and spirits were high
like days long ago when the soil was rich they traveled their wagons through mud and low ditch
where heather and fern stretched for many a mile where the Romany roots were a haven a while where the man was renowned for the good in his smile.
SLEEPY DOGS RIDGE
On sleeping dogs ridge the antelopes play you can find peace and solitude there anytime of day where children are blessed as they run in the sun where the coyote sings and the lord bangs the drum
a candle it flickers in the lodge there each night lit for the peacekeepers and the dreams in their sights
the wind it is rare and the stars shine each night under the heavens where the good lord puts right
the songbirds they sing and the lambs run each day there by the brook where the children all play
where the fishes they swim and the bull frogs all hops where there's no need for credit each time you shop
the pathways that lead there are steep and so wide though there's nettles and brambles there on each side
the lizards they slither and the grasshoppers sing then the flowers bloom to greet you each early spring
I'm off with my buckboard and my ponies all set I'm bound for that ridge where the sun never sets
where music plays daily on gods earthly throne there's a candle to greet you where gypsies call home.
ROMANY GENES
I went to visit www Romany Genes and chanced pon the gypsy queens with vardos there all on display and heathers bound for chavvys play the gypsy king was true to form
with tales of old and wheels all worn the road was hard when folks were true to gypsy lore and common dues the customs then were fit for a king with common rights and everything
the fairground charms with darts and lace with fortunes told to bright ones face the walks to market village greens he wayward men and words obscene
the dancing gals with tops that spun castanets and lewdly folki song the ponies free to graze the moors with tattooed bridles and woolly shawls
the yarns that Horace Cooper told folks said he had a heart of gold they burnt their homes as they died and jumped the brooms each happy bride
the heaths were rich in rabbits stews with ferreting for each boy blue Romany Genes be rich in law with roads a winding and Vardos tall Lamps that shone with brass so clean like Gypsy's eyes at Halloween.
ROMANY ROOTS
He had traveled through those Romany roots where cultures and heartaches were seldom foolproof he'd walked o'er the footpaths where thorns tagged your toes where rabbits and foxgloves bridled your clothes
he'd stumbled on wise folk who'd been through the wars when peace was a haven and Truth was ones word his clothes they were tattered and his language was rich he'd laid in the gutters the sideways and ditch
the lore of his nation was caste to the winds where freedom was gifted with Romany rings where the sun hit you blindly each morning at dawn where the heavens were open and your ways were forlorn
the paths that had ventured o'er valley and dale with scent of the flower and the rich golden smells where your fortune was told through the wink of an eye where fairgrounds were rolling and spirits were high
like days long ago when the soil was rich they traveled their wagons through mud and low ditch where heather and fern stretched for many a mile where the Romany roots were a haven a while where the man was renowned for the good in his smile.
TRAVELLING MAN
i was born with the look of a traveling man they called me a gypsy wherever i am my folks they were destined to warrant a wish as they stumbled through life with the sign of the fish
the wheels they did roll and the pen it was wet with fables and songs that flowed from their nets their hair it was dark and their skin it was tan their eyes looked you over and into the man
i never found kings or queens of my clan i guess il remain just a traveling man with eyes that light up when i hear the wheels spin when the fairgrounds organs playing when the gypsy gal sings.
NEWTOWN DAYS
I remember new town when i was just a kid sherbet dabs after breakfast with liquorice on the lid i remember the old school bell the playground where we played the days seemed cold and long then in my childhood days
i remember the sea view that walk upon the hill with coney's falling to the ground and squirrels a running still i recall the little church with bell that rang each morn the number 8 school bus and picnics on the lawn
i recall those simple days with dobbin on the heath the walks across to Waterloo and the wide commons where we cut our teeth old sankey ward the clay pits man and old buller archer too where knotty built his caravans next to Trent's cars SCRAPYARD too
those rides up to the regal we all called up on hill the old brown rossmore bus i hear its running still the old shoulder of mutton pub where only few could stand the Albion where they played shove halfpenny when life was simply grand
the kids all played at conkers then and most were diddy kye i ran around upon the heaths or at the fairgrounds shies the gypsies roamed the heaths so free and spun a tale or two i chased the gals around a lot and tied my laces too
some kids went to salvation hall to see Nativity's i spent nights with granfer reg inside hamworthy engineering sites n sprees we ate bread n cheese and chased with dogs a ferrit on the run with strings of rabbits all in line up afore the morning sun
the school truant waterman he rode a bike with bell you could see him coming down the lane n taste like a dam foul smell the roads were quieter those days and there was no TV the gals picked flowers on the heath and we had bread n jelly for our tea
some kids played flick cards every day or marbles on the mac you could buy sweets for just half pence or take a high rise slide the trees were tall and fine those days and we could climb them true there was no silly strangers then and no foolish health and safety rules.
FINAL CURTAIN
They pulled the curtain down on Maisie this was her last parade as she counted all her blessings long friendships she had made
she married into the Gypsies the king and castle clans she was a loyal custodian took her charms and loyal bands
you could see her making flowers selling heathers too from the foot of Beale's in Bournemouth across Waterloo to outside woollies store at Poole
her kids all talked the diddy her chavvies were on call too one danced for Zena Martelle the others danced the ballroom halls
she offered tea and biscuits could chat away the hours small knew the knowledge and the flowers she walked the fields and commons worked upon the land services to war efforts shed have you understand as she knew everyone that mattered the common and the grand she was a dandy lady lover of the common land.
gypsy aunt
my great aunt she were a gypsy dark as the ace of spades shes was ugly when old n Grey but a beauty when a young maid
all the lads adored her with ringlets in her hair though she cursed n swore all day long rode the flights down at Poole fair
as a child i knew her all we kids were frighted too for she was dark and ugly then though her eyes were deep n blue
her manners were outrageous though she had a heart of gold they buried her on Saturday burnt all her van of stock n clothes
the heaths were her great play space like all us diddycoy we frolicked in the bracken deep where the rabbits ran on by
the sky was her own canopy with starlight in her eyes her locks were dark and braided then her castle was a king she was born upon the heath where thrushes all did sing
i remember her sweet dialect though her diction it was foul she wouldn't harm a gnat they said as she looked into your eyes.
gypsy dream
just taking a stroll through Arne avenue where gypsies reside not far from Poole no gypsy sites left and no outside loo just a word with the coopers and that old gypsy crew
they moved them to kinsons west Howe and old turlin moor some up at bear wood and some are not poor they ran with the hounds and they unlocked their doors the locals had never seen their likes afore
the wheels turned there spokes like the world spinning free they gathered on heath lands sold their history
the travelers doctrines were rich and so rare with long flowing skirts and braided black hair the cooks lived at redditch i knew them so well we went fruit picking daily and the weather was swell
at dog kennel hill in east dulwich lanes the tinkers they gathered in wind and the rain the nursery was rich and the woods they were green where we built the greatest adventure playground the kids ever seen
oh poets they write of days long ago when gypsies were free and the land was their own but now they have homes of concrete and brick the capitalists have won with their spinning tricks.
john and the gypsies
They say that John Augustus was fascinated by Gypsies that's why he drew them every day some in their fine and dandy clothes some naked in the hay
he was a gypsy roving guy with his paint brush and his pen he lived upon the canford common lands with his vardo set in clay n dens
he painted our house heather view with its roses around the door its red and white bricks of the land where Crusoe came to call
they say that whistler was a friend of his along with lyodd George he sketched the chavvys with charcoal then guess he knew rogers Sid
the famous London art museum stores his scenes to see some are of the common gypsy folki others lost at sea
his wife was Ida and his sister Gwen plus all his lover maids they lived within the manor road near to wally cave
the art studio was made of glass though his farm like his life was mean he kept a lot of pigs you see plus goats that he would wean
his looks were dark and ugly then with his long coat and his beard some folks said he was eccentric others thought him weird
the art world thought him master stroke with his flair of all things bright he painted girls bare in the naked light but i guess he was alright.
FLOWER GALS DREAMS
you'll see them there on Saturday's outside the towns great store baskets full of daffodil's and roses by the score their braided hair and darker looks with dresses oh so gay from heather sweet terrain they came to while the hours away
their dialect course with melody though their words were plain they spoke the true Romany like children once again they promised wealth good health and more to people passing by with smiles to warrant fortunes gain and wisdom in their eyes
their homes of vardos on the heath and songs of yesterdays with accordion playing songs of love and rabbits in the hay with ponies small and dog packs calls heathers sweetly laid amongst the hills where myxomatosis killed the food of yesterday.
COMMONS AND ALLEYWAYS
We had a drink upon the quay where the Morris men frequent there were sailors on the promenade then and gals all heaven sent they drank a toast to old long john and Gulliver's old scents then we went into the jolly pub and downed our last weeks rent
the sky was getting overcast and the organ boy he played old sea chants of long ago and lovely bosom maids the bar was packed and overdue with cockles being sold we ate a dozen winkles too then gathered up our load
the dog he barked across the sea where ships they once did sail for bounty treasures set in maps upon some foreign shore the captain was a wiser man though his crew were drunk as lords but they had him in their pockets mate and sang with one accord
i stumbled through the alleyways where once Augustus drew then chanced upon a heath lands gate that led me to a dancing crew where gypsies gathered heather sprigs and sung of true romance the highway is for gamblers and the alley cats are primed in chance
i gathered up my songs of mirth and joined the offerings i wallowed n the merriment and could hear the blackbirds sing the gypsy gal she danced a theme with flowers in her hair her dress was long and red that night and the flesh so tender there
i offered love and innocence like only lads know how then took her on the moors that night amongst a herd of cows the stingers stung and thistles scratchie and the heather it did bend within the common lore of love where romance did comprehend.
FARMING DAYS
when gypsies trod upon the downs when heather sweet was scattered round when vardos were true caravans when kyers rode pon these lands
where rabbits ran the meadows sweet where fox gave chase and lords did meet where grouse and pheasants were dismissed amongst the hills where Gypsy's kissed
where forests walks and grassy mounds hid all the wealth of gentry found where springs did burst throughout the land where Gypsy songs were loud and grand
where zunners ran most every day amongst the gorse they hid and played where bees did buzz and warblers song caressed the mornings and days so long
where bare knacked fights were all in rage upon the booth where folks did stage where youth and charms were on display where farmers worked amongst the hay
where church bells chimed where wheels did roll upon the tracks where folks did go where factory hand and market stalls were rich in life for one and all
I traveled those fairgrounds and all those great shows to find me some gypsies that i ne'er did know i searched for those kings with dark skin and more with words that twer couse and hides saddle sore
i met with some tinkers and hawkers by trade i met up with a teller of fortune and slaves i mixed with the bests the Shaw's and the pride of England's travelings circus with dark roving eyes
i glimpsed their fair world of satin and lace with drapes that did flow n smiles pon their face their ponies were wild and the dogs they did bark they lit up their candles and lamps in the dark
their tales they were long and they gave me a thrill their stories were old and they spun that great wheel their vardos were tall and their stew it was rich they traveled this land through heathers and ditch.
gypsy girl
she was just a gypsy girl with her dark and dreamy eyes she danced for zena martell she was gifted and so wise
her father was a castle her grandma was a king she rode the carnival procession they made her gypsy queen
she could out talk all the locals with her wanton gypsy ways she dated all the playboys but with her love she stayed
she made such lovely flowers from papers fine and neat she talked the gypsy lingo her lips were red and sweet
she had a way of walking always caught your eye her nature was so noble she rode the ferris wheel you could hear her on the sidewalks her tongue was never still
she always talked to strangers she had the common touch with her gypsy ways of talking she had the gypsy luck.
gypsy man
of kushti talk and gypsy lore the old man hooper told it all he spun those yarns as he lent upon his garden wall
though old and wiser now in years with aches and problems shed in tears he spun the yarns and told it all when days were free upon the moors
his stories free to man and beast full of famine and full of feast his promises were rich in store when he was young upon the moors
the vardo caravans were rich in style and comfort by the ditch where rabbits ran and fox did prowl across the heaths and yonder boughs
there was a time when gypsy ran amongst the heathers bracken's sons when zunners laughed out in the rain till fairgrounds came to ease their pain
he told his yarns to cat and man of life afore the homes of man were bricks and mortar and not of van when ponies ran free upon these lands
when flowers made and heathers sold when rainbows led to pots of gold a time of freedom set for kings the gypsy life was on the whim
the old mans stories set in stone the hopes and fears left wandering the tales of clan and gypsy lore the sounds of song and laughter rich upon the heath close to the ditch
his repertoire of fable true handed down to me and you of sacred stories not left untold from the gypsy man out in the cold.
MONKEYS HUMP
They rode o'er the monkeys hump where the heather grew so mean where the warblers sung their songs where trees grew tall and lean they gathered all their children round all their nippers on display
they rode through rossmore common grounds where the masters gave them pay the hills were alder berry and the roads were sandy trails there were lizards in the grassy mounds and water in the wells
the sun came through each morning at the start of every day when the gaffers worked the land and the tinkers came to stay
the springs were rich and running free with water fresh to drink where molly wore her shawl where the wise man sat and thinked
the woods were full of blossoms the Poppy's rich and red where old Augustus drew his Art rambling roses round each bend
the nippers ran barefooted then where the cuckoos came to call one eye on the factory clock another at the door.
GYPSIES IN CLOVER
Miles away from nowhere at the back of way beyond i met a band of gypsy folk travelling was their bond
down in the hollows valley where commons stretched the land twas up near high top common where gypsies lived so grand
down near cuckoo bottom not from from monkeys hump across the hill from knottys old man trents big dump
you could see it on the Manning's where the chimney tall did stand across from granters farm house with pullets oh so grand
the cockerels crowed each morning where Arnold's tied their horses where Betty made daisy chains where the brickyard was so red and high where the gaffer wore watch chain
not far from shoulder mutton where john did sketch n paint nude models in his studio for just a penny rent
across from alderney hospital along the ringwood road where whites stored his pipes where little Truth remains
old sankey had the clay pits where Rogers worked each day sweating in the ovens covered in brown clay
the gypsies roamed the heathers where lady guest was rarely seen twas all a Sweet memory when victoria was queen.
MEMORIES OF WEST HOWE
The Arnold's boys kept ponies on the heath where grass grew course and lads cut teeth the Taylor's and the Bennett's crew all grew up in this place near Poole
the co op grounds were rare and green where trees cast blossoms and twas delight a splendid scene
where Sherwood's and Williams did frequent where all the west Howe residents paid fair rent
here once the gypsies roamed the heaths where landlord guest allowed fair game with rabbits and foxes down Poole lane did haunt the heather and birch along with john Augustus fame
here mush and zunner ran so free with dartford warblers trills within each tree
where sand lizards and adder did reside amongst the ferns and gypsy brides
the broom did glisten in the sun with scented furze and lanes to run where Thompson's and Cole's and dibbens too told their tales to Waterloo
the playground spills and towers tall with ropes and tackle to save your falls with bang of hammering every day to build a playground each holiday i hear the laughter n words of play ring out across the heaths today
the children's fun and thrills galore the pace of life within those walls.
NEW ENGLAND
I journeyed to new England Within birch and heathered down I rode upon a pony there Where gypsies settled down
There were sackcloth on the floor there Clay beneath your feet Gravel on the sisewalks The nicest folks yould meet
I trod upon the bracken Where the rhodedendrian grew There were Dartford warblers singing Not far from waterloo
The village children came there to crown the gypsy king There were whites and coopers laughing I heard a blackbird sing
Across from wallisdown and bear cross The gypsy rovers danced There was music in the air at night When the gypsy lady danced
She said I was so gifted I had the rose tattoo A was a lucky fellow From Alderney to poole.
THE OLDEN DAYS
When I ran with the turners The maidments and kings The heathlands were wild then When the chaffinch did sing
There were sites on every coner Where old johns kids did play I remember it fondly Twas as if twas yesterday
The bunk off man was waterman From branksome heath school We hid in the fir cones On seaview near poole
We oftimes played marbles Then conkers were cool When we ran with the zunners From kinson to poole
We rode the wee brown bus to up on hill The regal house flicks and the waterloo pool There were gypsy sites spread all over the lanes I remember it well and the brick making men With their watches on chains
The snake was the pub where the stanleys did fight There twer shove halfpeny playing both day and by night Old bill knight sold shoe laces and matches up on hill When we walked to school daily with still time to kill
Spider was the cool dark accordion man With an eye for the ladies with his tattoos and plans Lady wimborne gave a field for the people of poole Granfer reg rogers and alice saw bill cody too
I remember the omnium brick company The mannings brick yard and rogers trucks crews When Charlie had his pig sties down the lane of wool Lester was rich then when we walked the lodhe hills And fell in a ditch
The heaths of canford twer full of blossom then Afore brooms roads drugs I remember when families built their homes cut out in the mud There were bakers and archers maidments and fools Little boy tucker and how do you do
The heaths were a joy then with lizards and snakes Where rabbits ran free and the Suttons for school were never too late There was a racetrack at northbourne or was it redhill My memories going though I remember it still
There coal sherwoods rovers and a Johnny from France Who came every summer with his onion man dance Folks worked in the factories upon wallisdown A penny was something and a pig could be bought for less than half a crown
The cartwheels did roll and the gypsies did sing And the birdsong did wake you Each morning at spring.
Jim dominey
Jim dominey lived on ringwood road in newtown Poole with Vera's crew he had some children a family of happy girls and friends like me n you
he was a gypsy coal man too he travelled well and paid his dues delivering coal both day and night from coal yard lane to local sites
his ways were old but his heart was true he worked long days from Poole to Waterloo delivering coal and tales told to folks who would listen like me or you
the brooms were his step kids he had a few their father was Sid who wore smart shoes Vera was daughter of reg its true they lived near old wareham road near Poole.
THATS THE GYPSY LIFE FOR ME
heather sprigs and pollen bee silver birch and tall pine tree wagon whells rolling fancy free thats the gypsy life for me
yellow flowers of the furze sandy trails where sounds not heard quiet havens beneath the sun where deer and fox and rabbits run
dogs in packs and fires a lit horses ponies bridals and bit pegs of wood and tins of pan the dark dark tan of the gypsy man
stews of rabbit hedgehog pie herbal potions for the eye floral sprays kissed by the sun bare foot children free to run
carts gayly painted by hand dance and song and merry bands with sparks that fly into the open sky and miles of heathered countryside
on the move by ordered law no regard to rich or poor vagabond diddy coy common vested one and all all branded by mans laws
roll the wagon wheels one more time drink the freedom with the wine when men were free to taste the vine and run the winding whispering windy trails so let us dance just one more time and listen to the gypsy ryhme.
DARK HORSE
There was once a dark horse in kinson he rode the heath free he rode to the gables he rode to Poole quay
his last name was rogers he lived in fancy road they say he knew the cherritts of kinson he rode through the Bournemouth sea spray
they say he came from south wales he had many a maid he wrote them all poetry then many he laid
some say he was quiet say say reserved some say he used fancy words then talked with the lord
he was a methodist his daughter in law she was a salvationist freak the religions were strict then no alcohol or swearing allowed they wore hats in the church some wore a shroud
he rode his horse through newtown across the canford tracks down to wool lane they say with women he had that special knack
they went to school then up at sea view he grew up strict was well known down Poole.
gypsy talk
cross my palm with silver mister buy my heather sprigs look into my basket open up my lid
see my hard exterior glimpsed my soul within let me deal the cards let your fortune telling spin
buy my silver trinkets and my paper rose see my ponies watching and see my gay bright clothes hear my gypsy dialect don't say cackers please for i am just a traveling gal with love all up my sleeve
hear the fairground chatter the ferris wheels in spin the boxing booth is open Freddie mills within
see the darts a flying hear the gypsy reel gaze into my eyes mister i have looks to kill
ride upon the carousel bumpers crash and bang all besides the handsome frame of the tattooed man.
walk upon the heath lands where the winds did blow where travelers built their homes in clay many years ago
let the music touch you let their voices ring gold and silver earrings hear the chaffinch sing
where barefooted and freedom they all ran hand in hand amongst the dunes of canford lady guests proud land. gypsy lad
she married a Gypsy with big roving eyes he gave her his heather and told her his lies he was born on the common one hour afore morn he told her he loved her then left her at dawn he worked in the fairgrounds and ponies he rode he was a one for the ladies and the gal down the road he drove a big cart and he told you a yarn he was noble and famous but his breeches were worn
he wore those big earrings and talked diddy coy he loved all the ladies and gave em the eye he mixed with the coopers the mabeys and kings though his name was castle he was the head of the ring he could sale you a story and tell you a lie say it was the real Truth then gave you that look in the eye
his family made flowers and kettles and tins he was raised on old canford just where the ole warbler sings he lived in a caravan with high wooden roof he walked with a limp and his language was uncouth he swore and he told some terrible lies though the gals loved his blarney and his lovely dark eyes
they hung all their washing on the bramble bush free they had a dozen dogs and lots of new forest ponies his mother was Queenie and his father a king he had him a fortune inside his gold ring his pals came from London for that's what he said as he told her her fortune then took her to bed
the bed it was bouncy and the springs they did squeak he loved hers there twice nightly each day of the week she was a dreamer pretty and cool some say a diamond and some say a fool but he was only a gypsy who grew up near Poole.
night in the brush
I danced on the earth where my spirit roamed free where the inner light settles neath the billiobong tree i gathered my thoughts then threw them away where the gypsies were dancing on the first day of may
i took me a chance where the rivers run free where the heathers were sweet and there were birds in the trees i gathered there lilacs and weathered life's storms where the nectar of honey settled so warm
the travelers were cosy in their wee little beds next to the heathers and ferns for their heaads the nights they were cold and the rains they took flight where the trails were a bending and god put on his lights
the fare ways were broad and the forests were deep though there was comforts in the rags neath our humble bare feet the woodpecker chiseled a song for the night where the slow worms lie sleeping and the sparrows took flight
i remember it all in the mornings first light when the sun came a peeping with natures first light the song thrush awoke me from my slumber and nod where the river winds southwards in the hands of my god.
Gypsy girl
To the gypsy girl with the runny nose no shoes or socks o'er the twinkling toes just a faded dress and an old blue gown with her dark dark curls a tumbling down there twer miles of bracken for to run when days were hard and farmers son would call to take her oer the moors to study life and open doors the trees were tall and the gorse was spread when tales were told and spirits led where tractors roamed upon the downs where fortunes told for king and crown the gypsy life was rich with lore with pots to fill and chavvys calls where king and queen were in their camps where heathers grew twixt moss so damp the hills were free with birds and song where vardos tall did roll along where fairgrounds sounds would meet your ears in autumn months throughout the years where freedom reigned and Romany roamed through lanes of blossom they called home where clothes were washed and hung out to dry beneath those blue rich canford skies where rich and poor were friends to call where rabbits ran and foxes chase the zunners and chavvys played face to face where no man dared to hide their face.
gysy reel
deep down in cuckoo bottom nearby the foxes hole i spied some ragged gypsies a going for a stroll
a lady smoked a pipe there a sweetheart skipped a reel a pony in the garden amongst the daffodils
the caravans were tall then as the master played his tune the accordion was playing that summer afternoon
the dogs they are a barking must be someones there about i saw a game of cards and more a tarot took a chance
there at cuckoo bottom not far from waterloo the queen of Gypsies smiled at me the maidens danced a reel
we ate rabbit stew and dumplings hedgehog pie and bran i sure was happy then in my little durzet town
just two miles from new england were turbary birch did grow they built their homes inside the clay many years ago
the heather springs were fancy just like the road nearby where uncles and aunties all ate rabbit pie
the eyes were rare and awesome their fortunes all were told with one eye on the master craft another on that pot of gold.
LINKS.
MORE OF MY POETRY SITES AND OTHER POETS
rose louiseen.co.uk/#/gypsy-roselouise/4532674276
I hope you enjoyed reading my poems and reading my other pages on The Gpysy Poet.
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MY HEATHLAND POEMS
Famous Gypsy poetry
THE DORSET BAIRD
GYPSY ROSE LOUISE
Wills. 
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