The Gypsies

The moon was my God as it sat in the sky
And the firelight was bold to my experienced eye.
The ground was cold but our hearts they were hot
With the blood pounding at the tempo we brought.
The air held our song as we wailed our times
And we danced in the air like a fistful of mimes.
The song on the violin was the cry of the past
Calling up spirits like the wind in a mast.
The colors did fly as we spun in the air
It was our festive dance that we danced everywhere.
And into the night the stories we'd give.
And this is the way we wanted to live.
--Rebecca Swanson

Rom, Roma, and Romani should not connected or confused with the country of Romania, or Rome the city. These names have separate, distinct etymological origins and are not related.