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on the outskirts of pontefract , where the villages merge with the countryside , a long long leafy lane runs off into the farmlands and nature walks . once every year , a very elderly gypsy lady , would arrive in her horse drawn caravan and set up shop , people from miles around came to have their fortunes told .


Submitted:Mar 25, 2009    Reads: 80    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   


the sweet scent of lavender

in the hedgerows as i walk

a red fox dashes for cover

in the hollows in the cliffs of chalk .

.

in the old oak acre

smoke spirals into the atmosphere

the green and gold of her caravan

tells me gypsy rose is here .

.

wild raven hair

and smiling dark brown eyes

she beckons me with her finger

to disobey would be unwise .

.

she may be very elderly

but i know she'll bring me luck

if i go fetch her water

from the famous friars brook .

.

i struggle with the heavy bucket

but i do not spill a drop

i bid the lady ''farewell'

but she insists i stop .

.

she takes my hand in her hand

and in silence reads my palm

my heart pounds like thunder

but i know she means me no harm .

.

then she narrated a story

that did'nt seem to make sense

what does a ten year old know of heartbreak

or its dreadful consequence .

.

but i was to remain faithful to my convictions

and true love would find me

the purple of the lavender

held the clue to my destiny .

.

my grandma told me romany gypsies

were fantastic at reading future sign

and the sweet and tender rosie

had just predicted mine .

.

i had so many heartaches

as into a man i grew

but forever love eluded me

until darling i met you .





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