My Last Child

My Last Child

This small lovely creature
So tiny and new,
Who seems to know all
From times long forgotten..
Could this be my child?

A gentle old soul
Who's been here forever,
Struggling through this life
Not knowing what is expected now.
Could this be my child?

Hurt by change
And this life we live
Trying to understand.
Could this be my child?

Always contented
When just a babe
As if she knew
That life is a game
Not to be taken seriously
And she came to play.
Could this be my child?

Rarely a tear,
Always a smile,
No matter what hurt
Life threw at her --
And there were times of pain
Enough to make a strong man cry.
Could this be my child?

Sometimes I think not.
A changeling perhaps?
Meant for another life
One of comfort and ease
She's been thrown into a lifestyle
So very wrong for her.
Bewildered by being
The child of a gypsy
She has become inflexible,
Yet vulnerable to a point
That is painful to see
Could this be my child?

This dark lovely woman,
Beautiful and kind,
Her eyes deep and knowing
With innocence and fear,
Her smile is not lightly given
A prize to be won
But worth every effort
It touches your heart.
Yes, this is my child...

© Copyright 1998 The Gypsy Widow