She was certain, my mother,
That in some other life
With another soul,
Her voice sang out
In the firelight,
In the lantern, torch-lit spaces
Where music swelled,
Where melodious Spanish
Encircled the Gypsies’ Romany.
There, the rhythms
Of her feet, her graceful arms,
The flick of her skirt
Held enthralled all who saw
And heard.They were the witnesses
Of her other soul.
She was certain, my mother,
She had once been a Gypsy in Spain.
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