Wild Gypsy Eyes

darlin', when you do the dance... my poor heart

takes wing upon the wind...

I suspect romance... takes a fresh start;

time and time again...

and I know I'm not saying nothing new to you...

but I'm inclined to tell you just the same

if your heart is open, I'll get through to you

and warm my soul... in the wonder of your flame

...

if I could catch you eye for a moment;

as you go gliding by...

a smile as your reply ...questions unspoken

sweet and gentle as a sigh...

a promise of magic when the music's through

and the last chord dies on the guitar

making love as only few can do...

your skirts and scarves lying loose upon the floor...

...

for surely Jezebel... in all her splendour

could not weave a finer web...

no barefoot Esmeralda ...  in the tent door

could sooner turn a poor man's head

there's such a long line of gypsy queens

dancing to the minstrel s 'round the fire

ancient violins, hissing tambourines

wild eyes rekindling man's desire...

...

    ...well... this may be the lyric entire (with the first verse repeated and wrapped up with a crescendo flourish)... the mention of the period in my 'cowboy adventures' wherein I became a 'farrier' brought to mind the times spent as a 'street singer'; making a few dollars playing guitar and singing (at volume) while the (eventual) mother of my daughter would dance (barefoot and barely contained in a light cotton gown)... the Kentucky Derby one year, with a sign that proclaimed: "Canada for Mother's Day or Bust!"... after a winter spent working as a trail guide in Palm Springs California, (demoted to riding a mule after my horsemanship (lack thereof) was clearly demonstrated). I spent some time assisting an old fellow who had shod thousands of horses as a cavalryman (they 'shoe' horses, don't they?).  I thought that perhaps I might 'fare' better under horses than atop them. Upon returning to Canada, en route to the east coast, a fellow from back home approached me on the Sparks Street Mall in Ottawa, where we were plying out 'street show' to tell me he had just dropped out of a Farrier Program at Algonquin College's outpost south of town in Greely; as it had more to do with horses than the blacksmith trade. I had already applied for this same program, and as luck would have it, a call home to check on insurance status had my mother telling me that there had been a call from the very spot my friend had just vacated. We parked the bus at the facility that night, and in the morning the instructor said: "You must be the new man...".. and I began my 'horseshoeing' education only a few days late in the program; camped out in a little park just up the road in all the autumn glory of Ontario. Horses 101, from the ground up. ...and just enough blacksmithing to forge my publishing identity  as 'Anvil-True-as-Steel Music'. And a few gigs in the Ottawa area as a 'folksinger' type to boot. "and so it goes", I suppose... yet another 'clear cut case of more luck than brains...'... However, being clearly too tall for that particular trade, my 'career' as a farrier was short lived, but interesting; nonetheless... 

... I suspected there was a missing verse, and fortunately I was able to spin the song from a disc that I'd had burned from the original cassette of my very first 'actual' recording session (at the Artspace location on Hunter St., aided and abetted by Peter Cragg and George Bertok (the little session in Ma Thompson's living room all those years ago on Barry's 4 track recorder notwithstanding). Lots of static and background noise, but some brilliant playing by those two fellows... I'd lost track of the disc, and when I dug up a cd player to give a young fellow last week, there it was... 'and so it goes'; I suppose... love to all, d.

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