STAID OLD POET

How can this staid old poet,

Scottish Pict and not Romany,

Manifest so much gypsy blood,

Wine red blood which boils in moonlight,

Roiled by the sound of mad guitars,

Or sad sad violins,

Stirred by old stories,

Tantalized by tales,

Of times which might have been,

Maybe never were,

But, damn well should have?

• Donovan Baldwin