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 the gypsy poet

heathland memories


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When grandma picked cinders from the old house hearth
when we collected the conies and took them home at night
our dreams were many and our lives we shared
with all the family and the old coal shed
with its sparks and its embers way into the night

the dogs would bark to warn us of intruders afoot
the ganders chased the gypsies away
it was a time to remember when time was slow and free
when candles lit our way to our beds and our thoughts were like ships at sea

the grasses were green rich and with wild heathers tumbling downs
there were patchwork garlands scattered o'er the common heaths around
the brickyard with its chimney spire and the clay pits on the hill
the rabbits in their burrows and the bourne stream running still

the gypsies came to call for eggs and water free
the little bantam chicks that ran over the worms constantly
the copper house where pigs meals were cooked sweet every day
across the heath from aldeney and close to old Poole bay

its a wonder that the work got done and the master took his fee
there were miles of open country then right down to Poole quay
the gypsy folk and travelers lived upon the hills
where lodgers offered sustenance and foxes were oft times killed

the family ran the brickyard then and the songs were course and true
there were characters a plenty from wimborne down to Poole
the cocks did crow each morning to greet a brand new day
the farmers gathered in the harvest and the kids all got to play

the days were long and healthy and the daises chains were sweet
the lads and lasses gathered thoughts and the goats and lambs would bleat
the sun came through the valley then and the birds begun to sing
there were hordes children playing and lovebirds on the wing

the church at newtown offered freedom from the king
whilst roses grew upon the heath and the music it did swing
the branches of the willow trees o'er the little pond
where the squirrels ran free in liberty and the blackbird Sang his song  







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