An old gypsy played a tune

around a camp fire late one night,

sliding bow across violin

as the moon shone all so bright.

This old forgotten gypsy

would travel across the land,

selling wooden trinkets

and reading peoples hands.

In towns she’d lay down her hat

and play her worn violin,

sad old tunes that gypsies know

held tightly to her chin.

People gathered all around

to hear this old gypsy play,

the sweetest music ever heard

for which they would gladly pay.

This old gypsy woman

who had wandered all her life,

never born a single child

or became someones wife.

One night around her camp fire

playing tunes she knew by ear,

suddenly the violin went quiet

and the old gypsy disappeared