Never Fear, The Gysy is Here

It's ok, it's ok... calm down... I'm here... still. Been bowing to the whims of some unrepentant Zulus who deigned fit to stab me in the lower back with some rather blunt spears. I'm alright... just owchy, and decided it was best not to sit in front of a computer for a couple of days.

While I was lazing around, I found an old book that my Mom had sent me months ago. It's a children's reader that she and my Aunt shared back when they were youngsters. The note says, "Barb, found this among Grandma's things - one of the few books we had as children. Toss if you want. Just thought I'd share..." Ahem. Mom! For shame!!! "Toss if you want" ? ! ? ! This is NOT the same woman I grew up with. Toss a book? I'm ... shocked.

Anyway, the poem on the very first page I flipped to gave me the heebie-jeebies. Not because it's such an amazing poem, but because of the title of it. Whoodathunkit? Without further ado...

Gypsies
by Rachel Field

Last night the gypsies came -
Nobody knows from where.
Where they've gone to nobody knows,
And nobody seems to care!

Between the trees on the old swamp road
I saw them round their fire:
Tattered children and dogs that barked
As the flames leaped high and higher;
There were black-eyed girls in scarlet shawls,
Old folk wrinkled with years,
Men with handkerchiefs round their throats
And silver loops in their ears.
Ragged and red like maple leaves
When frost comes in the Fall,
The gypsies stayed but a single night;
In the morning gone were all -
Never a shaggy gypsy dog,
Never a gypsy child;
Only a burnt-out gypsy fire
Where danced that band so wild.

All gone and away,
Who knows where?
Only the wind that sweeps
Maple branches bare.