The Story Teller

Sparkling emerald jewels for eyes,

Light the darkest heart

With gypsy tales of moonless nights

And passions in the dark

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She spun the fairy gypsy yarn,

Her voice so soft and tender

That never had another woman

More chilling tales to render

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Firelight that warmed the night

With coals as hot as rapture

Sparkle bright with gypsy light

Each peasant heart to capture

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Generation shadows leap

From eerie puffs of smoke

To lend their song to gypsy lore

The ancestry awoke

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And only she the gypsy queen

Could touch the deep regale

Only she, with gypsy glee

Could tell them such a tale

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Her waning shadow's memory

New light leaping from flame

As ages pass in tender tales

Her children shall rename

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In songs of faded gypsy glory,

When oft' the young ones speak

There lies the song of gypsy queens

With firelight on their cheek

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And she is dancing there with them

Chilling, ghostly pale...

Spinning faerie gypsy yarns

And passing on her tale.

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This poem was my original way of sharing the magic I picked up while visiting with gypsies when I was a teenager. It later became a song, and even later than that, a story I wrote on Vocal. Please find links to the song and the story below. Hopefully it will be interesting to you, to see how an episode from my life became a poem, then a song... then a story.

You can hear the song by clicking here:

And the back story can be found here: