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 the gypsy poet

gypsy 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


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