She was a tawny gypsy girl,
A girl of twenty years,
I liked her for the lumps of gold
That jingled from her ears;
From: The Gypsy Girl By Ralph Hodgson at Poemhunter.com
Feet Afire
To dancce barefooted,
Must be a painful feat,
Except a pillow of passion,
Flowing tiny through veins,
Carries her higher, faster,
Enveloping air and feet,
To heights unseemingly known,
Only to the vibe of dancer,
How does art develop so?
She was a tawny gypsy girl
Whom sidewalk audience,
And prestige hall grew to know,
And loved her fast moving feet,
Destined for clouds, or so
One thought seeing her,
In motion throttled by rhythmic,
Cadence carried along dreams,
Only the artiste dared to stir,
For yesterdays mattered not, for
A girl of twenty years.
Her layered skirts,
Frilled and coloured,
Patterned for sun moon and,
Roving ways through sleet and sun,
Danced a rhythm of her feet below,
For this was a sync of her and them,
They always became a part,
Of her thrilling feat,
The agonizing stories told, though
I liked her for the lumps of gold.
Bedecked adorned for audiences'
Bewilder, was her goal,
Always she drew them in, to
Tales of treacthery wander
And exhausting moons,
Above wagon wheels turning,
On dusty winding curves,
Music never dared to silence,
The clink of earrings solid in worth,
That jingled from her ears.
© gillena cox 2026
