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The gypsy's rose

Down a lonely lane,
a fiddler walks,
his face both joyous and sad.
His fiddle wails of life's gladness and woes,
of the sadness of his ancient race
his fingers never falter and his feet never stop
in life's turbulent endless pace.
and as he walks down that lonely lane
all that he leaves is a rose.




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DreamChild said...
Jun. 13, 2010 at 12:51 pm:
this is beautiful. it reminds me of living in Bosnia(: thank you for this. don't ever stop writing!
 
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