GYPSY DANCE

Climb up the hill where gypsies hide,
And breathe on the wind of a restless tide;
Where notes of sorrow from a violin,
Cry out to the night from a heart within.

The day is dim and night is alive,
And gypsies dance like bees in a hive;
They spin and turn while the fire burns bright,
And sparks fly up to kiss the night.

Old men sit while weaving a tale,
While young men sit drinking their ale;
And fires of night flicker and glow,
While the winds of night moan and blow.

They dance to fast, they dance too far;
They follow the light of a fallen star;
But there in the sky a sickle shaped moon,
Dances with gypsies in the fires of June.

poem by ELIZABETH WESLEY,Canada

izvor:http://www.voicesnet.org/allpoemsoneauthor.aspx?memberid=1217900010




CIGANSKI PLES

Popni se na brijeg gdje se cigani kriju
Udahni taj vjetar nemirne plime
Gdje plaču u noći iz dubine srca
Tužne note violine

I već se mrači,a noć je živa
Cigani plešu k´o u košnici pčele
Okreću se,vrte,dok vatre gore
A iskre nebo poljubiti žele

Tu starac sjedi pletući priču
Dok mladci sjede i pivo piju
Vatre noći trepere i sjaje
Dok vjetri noći jecaju , briju

Prebrzo plešu,plešu daleko
I svjetlo zvijezde što pada prate
Na nebu iznad i mlađak pleše
Ciganski ples uz lipanjske vatre

prijevod:Floyd