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 the gypsy poet

poets bride


she was born to be a poets bride
with tears of joy she could not hide
born to be a lady fair
with roses planted in he hair
born on a Sunday morning there
where bells did ring and life was bare
where vardos stopped upon the land
where heather grew and life was grand
she graced the hills and valleys true
where rhododendron's and daisies grew
where stars did shine like on a crown
where horse and dog did once bed down
there within the countryside
he met her whilst walking and she became his bride
where grass grew tall and bird did sing
each morning light at early spring







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