Gipsy traveling show
I heard a song, and I am ashamed to say I forget what it was called, but it had a line in it that went, 'She was born in the agon of a traveling show and her mama had to dance for teh money they'd throw.'
That one line inspired me to write this poem, so I included it here. That is the ONLY part of this poem that I can't claim as mine. I hope you enjoy!
'She was born in the wagon of a traveling show
Her mama had to dance for the money they'd throw'
They would jeer and they’d shout at the old Gypsie maid
But their words never reached her jeweled ears, (they would fade).
Town to town the night riders ran,
Setting up ‘shop’ for the whole gipsy clan
They’d drink their fine rum, and tell an old joke
And they sometimes sneak up and rob a poor bloke.
The girl grew up pretty, her eyes holding the sea,
People soon started to shout, “bring her out” “let me see”
The fine daughter of sin, no title could bear
With her hair so fresh, and her skin so fare
She could dance on her toes and play on the pipes
She had learned to make no trouble, whining or gripes
She moved so gracefully spinning with flaire
And all the young lads, couldn’t do anything but stare.
She had sewn bells to the end of her skirt,
(So much attention to this beautiful flirt).
And as she grew older temptations grew more
and all the young men would hope they could ‘score.’
But she learned right from wrong and wouldn’t allow,
Any fine man to approach her and bow.
They had learned of her stubborn ness, and how to comply,
Yet one man, one night, decided to lie:
He was a brave gent, with eyes flamed in gold.
His life as a traveler, though his story never told,
He said that he loved her, and spoke without fear
Because no one could hear him, nor eagerly turn their ear
To listen to his stories, and capture her heart
But in the next morning new traveling would start.
He bid her farewell, said he’d find here again
But little did they know he was not gypsie kin.
For a gypsie can only love a gypsie, (sad it’s true).
But she did not know so her love would accrue.
No longer merry, or willing to dance,
No man now could even catch a small glance
At the fine talented spirit, gliding away
Because of a love that had left her that day.
She thought he might come and follow his heart
But all that was left was grass behind the cart.
Years had passed and a child she bore,
From a real gypsie lad had married her ‘afore.
It was born in the wagon of the traveling show,
Which her mama would dance in for the money they’d throw.
That one line inspired me to write this poem, so I included it here. That is the ONLY part of this poem that I can't claim as mine. I hope you enjoy!
'She was born in the wagon of a traveling show
Her mama had to dance for the money they'd throw'
They would jeer and they’d shout at the old Gypsie maid
But their words never reached her jeweled ears, (they would fade).
Town to town the night riders ran,
Setting up ‘shop’ for the whole gipsy clan
They’d drink their fine rum, and tell an old joke
And they sometimes sneak up and rob a poor bloke.
The girl grew up pretty, her eyes holding the sea,
People soon started to shout, “bring her out” “let me see”
The fine daughter of sin, no title could bear
With her hair so fresh, and her skin so fare
She could dance on her toes and play on the pipes
She had learned to make no trouble, whining or gripes
She moved so gracefully spinning with flaire
And all the young lads, couldn’t do anything but stare.
She had sewn bells to the end of her skirt,
(So much attention to this beautiful flirt).
And as she grew older temptations grew more
and all the young men would hope they could ‘score.’
But she learned right from wrong and wouldn’t allow,
Any fine man to approach her and bow.
They had learned of her stubborn ness, and how to comply,
Yet one man, one night, decided to lie:
He was a brave gent, with eyes flamed in gold.
His life as a traveler, though his story never told,
He said that he loved her, and spoke without fear
Because no one could hear him, nor eagerly turn their ear
To listen to his stories, and capture her heart
But in the next morning new traveling would start.
He bid her farewell, said he’d find here again
But little did they know he was not gypsie kin.
For a gypsie can only love a gypsie, (sad it’s true).
But she did not know so her love would accrue.
No longer merry, or willing to dance,
No man now could even catch a small glance
At the fine talented spirit, gliding away
Because of a love that had left her that day.
She thought he might come and follow his heart
But all that was left was grass behind the cart.
Years had passed and a child she bore,
From a real gypsie lad had married her ‘afore.
It was born in the wagon of the traveling show,
Which her mama would dance in for the money they’d throw.