Ragtag gypsies dance in the wind,
their brown shawls hide them
their red cloaks.
their orange skin
Crushed underfoot,
decaying bodies gather.
In piles, in drifts,
the dead are swept in
as common garbage,
while others are burned
by the thousands,
in funeral pyres.
Most of the vagabonds fall
to rot away the winter
under snow and sleet.
A short nomadic gathering,
they dance into the earth
they jig into deaths door
they spin in final pirouettes.
Months later
in true reincarnation,
they are born again
all as green children
with no adults.
Working from their only birthday
until they day they dance.
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