Gypsy Dancer
by Miranda Hawkins

 

This was written as an English assignment in high school. Later I did a picture that, although unintentional, works really well with this poem you can see it in my Elfwood gallery or in my personal gallery.

 

Swirling, twirling, whirling, to the music of the night,
Swift flashes of color, brilliant and bright,
She raps upon a small tambourine,
Knotted with ribbons, red, yellow and green.
Dancing a jig in the fire's warm glow,
She circles the campsite as the amber flames flow.
Lost in the moment, her mind wanders, free.
She melds with the music like a wave with the sea.
Trapped by the magic that flows through her soul,
She flies through the night, her wild spirit made whole.
Then, as quickly as it started, the music dies away.
Her dusty feet slow to a halt and her body ceases to sway.
She longs for one more ballad, but the fire has burned low,
And the night is fading swiftly, melting, as would snow.
But even though the dawn has come and the night is through,
She knows that she will dance again, when the music starts anew.

 

 

 

All poetry, stories, etc. ©2000 Miranda J. Hawkins. All rights reserved

 

 

 

 

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