Nobody knows the Gypsys name,
They whisper and mutter without any shame.
She travels along from town to town,
With a creased face and permanent frown.
She wears a heavy cloak and bangles up her arms,
Floor length skirts and a belt with charms.
A shawl tied loosely around her hair,
She shuffles along as the people stare.
She'll help with the sick and aid the poor,
But no one will willingly open their door.
"Witch!" they call her "the devils daughter!"
"Pitch her down the well to drown in the water!"
But she does them no harm and is soon on her way,
As she has nowhere she wishes to stay.
Her only goal is to help those in need,
And from this calling she cannot be freed.
A witch she may be but one filled with light,
As she only does good and that which is right.
She will travel the roads until her dying day,
And then folk will wish she had stayed.
They will feel the loss when she is gone,
And the Gypsy Witch they will mourn.
