Weaving magic through the trees,
Black eyes peering through the dark,
She commands the Glowing Spark,
Yes, the one that’ll never cease.
Moonbeams tangled in her hair,
The Gypsy moves with ghostly grace,
Her dancing steps leave but a trace,
A perfumed whiff of flowers rare.
Creeping, creeping comes the mist…
She surveys her nightly toil.
As the Keeper of the Soil,
All the world fits in her fist.
Gnarled old roots tug at her feet,
Not one candle lights the Trail,
At this time the moon shines pale,
But she needs no light to weep.
Woe, the chance by Mankind missed!
As they died off one by one,
There was nowhere left to run
She’s one that Death has kissed.