Gypsy
Gypsy
Steep path leads to the top,
a Gypsy ascends with aberrance,
his memories behind to drop,
spells an aphorism to his airy audience.
Same drops of forehead sweat,
dropp to soil; an apparition waves,
the rocks bemoan his lone sextet,
raindrops; a Gypsy that even sky betrays.
Maybe he was a shadow, a ghost,
perchance a smile on lips and eyes,
of his betrothal nymph in woods,
in an eternal solitude of her to guise.
He gallivants in emptiness, about,
as two goldfinches of afternoon warble,
their song becomes his lone shout,
to wander above dry yews and marble.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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