An Ageing Gipsy Woman

An ageing woman of no fixed abode
She has travelled down many a road
The lines of life etched on her face
And she is one who ages with grace.

Born into the wandering way of life
And is she a mother and to an ageing Rom a wife
And do her children play music and sing
And dance around the camp-fire in a ring.

All she asks is a small help from you
A gold or silver coin maybe two
Towards her ticket to her next destiny
How far distant from Paris or to where that might be.

The darkness of her eyes and her hair
And the colourful scarf that she wear
A beautiful though ageing Gipsy Rose
She strikes such a classical pose.

One can detect the pride of her race
And the wisdom in her beautiful face
The wisdom the years only bring
To one who should be a Queen for a King.

Discrimination against her she surely has known
But any thoughts of inferiority she has outgrown
So elegant, graceful and proud
She would stand out in any crowd.

The camera of course never lies
It has captured the wisdom in her brown Romany eyes
The great book of life by her read
And of her what more can be said.