by Barbara Young
A gypsy, a gypsy, Is what I'd like to be,
If ever I could find one who Would change his place with me.
Rings on my fingers Earrings in my ears.
Rough shoes to roam the world For year and years and years.
I'd listen to the stars, I'd listen to the dawn,
I'd listen to the tunes of wind and rain, The talk of fox and faun.
A gypsy, a gypsy! To ramble and to roam
For maybe---oh, A week or so--- And then I'd hie me home!
A gypsy, a gypsy, Is what I'd like to be,
If ever I could find one who Would change his place with me.
Rings on my fingers Earrings in my ears.
Rough shoes to roam the world For year and years and years.
I'd listen to the stars, I'd listen to the dawn,
I'd listen to the tunes of wind and rain, The talk of fox and faun.
A gypsy, a gypsy! To ramble and to roam
For maybe---oh, A week or so--- And then I'd hie me home!
No comments:
Post a Comment