Gypsies below the open orange sun..
Be gone such worries of those pointy knives and rusty guns.
No beginnings neither ends as birds of will they fly..
Freedom is all around from loud laughs to sobbing cries.
Colors worn, be endless n complex in shades..
Green trees and white clouds side along their simple trails..
Stories around the world they sing as songs..
Music tuned for meals bring out soothing metallic longs..