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
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