They hid within the shadows where the sun had gone to rest
their seasons were enchanted and their clothes all Sunday best
their heartaches were all numbered and their dreams were satisfied
they hid their dreams in baskets far from others wandering eyes
the tree were high and covered in fir cones and true grit
their campfires were a welcoming with their ashes warm and lit
their shawls were woolly comfort and their smiles were rich in Grace
they wore the look of freedom and had that grin upon their face
their vardos were rich in crafted skill and flowing art without
whilst the wooden steps that led inside were hard and trimmed with grout
the rooms were cosy and set in comfort zone with lamps of brass and wicks so trim
i can still hear their plaintiff gypsy reels
the songs they sang were handed down like the clothes their children wore
they'd traveled through the dirt and land through many many wars
their refugee foundations were set in history
like the wishes and the spinning wheels and the tarot revelry
the sands of time enriched their lives like the spirit intuitively
they set their store upon goodwill and they set their store for thee
their ponies all were bridled and their dog packs all ran free
they lived upon the heathered heath just a stone throw from me