UmbilicalVillanelleSHT

Each spring new hope restores the family tree,
sowing seeds of rhyme inside my mind.
The blood of GypseyJingle flows through me.

A griot or a minstrel I could be.
By clown or mime or puppeteer divined.
Each spring new hope restores the family tree.

I thought a caravan might set me free.
I sought the edge Columbus could not find.
The blood of GypseyJingle flows through me.

I saw a mystic mother in my tea,
who turned to dancing daughters of our kind.
Each spring new hope restores the family tree.

I chanced to hear the rhythm of the sea,
and witness stars aligned as if designed.
The blood of GypseyJingle flows through me.

The simple love of words, our pedigree.
Our kinship by a drumbeat less defined.
Each spring new hope restores the family tree.
The blood of GypseyJingle flows through me.