TO THE GYPSY MAN

Is there no room in your gypsy heart

Where a woman's love might lie

Warm and sheltered, your prize and song,

As you wander beneath the sky?

No, for you say, “I'll carry no weight,

I must be free, be free;

I'll carry no love in my gypsy heart

To make a drag for me.”

Little you know, then, love is the cloak

That shelters you from the storm;

Love makes the shoes for your gypsy feet,

Love is your coat so warm.

Though you take no purse and you take no staff

You cannot escape the load

Of a woman's longing and woman's love

That follows you down the road.