The Gypsy

The Gypsy

She spins, she twirls,
Long black hair dancing
On purple-clothed shoulders.
Tamborine of goatskin
clutched in olive hands,
Trouncing out a melody
her feet follow with a life of their own.
Suddenly, her dark eyes catch
those of a young blue-eyed man.
In that moment, their souls connect,
No room is left in the world
but for the uniting of those spirits.
Then, her rich brown eyes
dart sideways to see
A white woman standing beside him.
Her pale golden hair
shimmering in the moonlight,
Creamy arms clutching those
of the blue-eyed man.
The moment is lost,
left to dwell forever
In the darkness ‘til called home again.