I recently found an old diary I kept from Jan. 1973 — Aug. 1976. I was 13 soon to be 14 when I began to write in it. Today I read an entry I made on Oct. 21, 1974. I was 15 years old. I had to write a poem for a high school English class. I could not believe I found this entry because I have been thinking about this poem recently. I did not remember that I had written it into my diary. I thought it was lost in time. Here it is:
The gypsy’s sleek silhouette danced in the firelight,
as she braided her mane around and around her head.
The distant chorus of strangers mingled in the humid air.
The gypsy’s soft fragrant voice lulled the fireflies into slumber.
The howling wolves on yonder hill spread a silent fear.
The full glistening moon whispered legends of centuries past.
The gypsy danced an ancient rite to revive the lost souls of Satan’s men.
The distant humming of the strangers rose to a peak and then ceased.
The night was young, as the lost souls roamed to revenge past grief.
The gypsy gently strummed a lute, an heirloom of forgotten lore.
The music hung in the air like a cobweb woven by a Widow,
Snaring any unwary stranger hypnotized by the mood of the night.
The gypsy ends her song and listens. Her lost lover calls out from the darkness.
The fire dies to embers. The wolves’ howls lower to moans.
The gypsy wanders aimlessly into the darkness, searching endlessly for those forgotten.
It is now 47 years later, and I want to thank God I am not the gypsy. I am now married and my surname has been changed to Krein.
movingforwardslowly 