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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