The Gypsy Girl – a poem.
The Gypsy Girl
Oh where are you now my sweet gypsy girl,
With those flowers in your hand.
I have waited each day,
Till the sun goes down,
Here on this golden sand.
For once you were here, one summer, at dusk,
When the moon caught your hair in its light.
I sensed your warm breath,
As it floated on high,
Up into that fateful night.
A singular body, in a gown of white silk,
Washed up the next day, on the coast.
Her hair was as black
As a raven’s wing,
Now the breeze is her heavenly ghost.
richardpeeej 2011
Brilliant imagery, poor Gypsy girl 
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