poem poems

Gipsy Words

A gipsy crossed my path
and asked to read my hand.
She used her mystic voice
to talk of things unplanned.

She spoke of trips IŽd make
and also that IŽd meet
my rich and gentle love
when walking on the street.

In fact, I walked for miles
before I bought my car,
although, to find my love,
I tried a salad bar.

One thing was almost true:
the night she spoke to me,
I had a pleasant dream:
I won the lottery.

 

 

  

Poems: A page of Rosa ClementŽs site
© (1998)