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 the gypsy poet

alongside fern ditch


its a far distant country from whence my people once roamed
where the heather grew rich and the roads were our own
there were folks you could trust and a  song you could sing
when the meadows were sweet there and the church bells did ring

its long from those moments we treasured from dawn
with the skylark a singing and the ears on the corn
the wagons did roll then and the ponies were free
when we rode o'er the hillsides to old alderney

the bourne was a spring then to the mouth of the town
with valleys and bottom from hill to the great alder downs
from the high Howe meadows where the spring met the stour
where the nettles grew tall in the breeze and the showers
then we would be happy for many an hour

the shire horse was strong on the trails which we led
then as evening approached we were ready for bed
our vans they were comfort though with sparse room to lie
but we were happy and free beneath the rich sky

our children ran free and our work it was hard
where we gathered our strength afore the next yard
our folk songs were sang then as we grew old and wise
amongst the heathers and gorse with our true Romany eyes

there were  fairgrounds and shows then where we sold of our wares
with our devil may care freedoms and a rose in our hair
the sky was like diamonds and the air it was fresh
those were the days when we put love to the test that we loved the best

there were clay pits and brickyards with work for to gain
when we traveled those roads down those old country lanes
the fire smoke was dense and the aroma smells oh so rich
when we lived on the homeland alongside ferns ditch
 







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