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 the gypsy poet

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 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 loked 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

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