Poetry By Willow Dancer


Raven hair and steel blue eyes
she twirls to tunes that seem to rise
from common drums and flutes of reed
for coins of silver, she'll tend your needs.

Barefoot wench in tattered skirts
enchantress swaying as she flirts
with he who holds the grandest purse
beware ye lads, the gypsies curse.

She'll do your bidding if she must
surviving on her wit and lust
to feed herself and pay her dues
she'll be your whore, she'll be your muse.

But with the break of dawns first light
she slips away in mystic flight
a man of means and in control
you bought her body not her soul.

With jewels and beads or coins of gold
you'll pay to have your fortune told
by a gypsy woman with steel blue eyes
who'll play your game and be your prize.

Willow Dancer
11 - 22 - 02

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