The Minstrel and the Gypsy

She would dance, but would not sing

He did not know this when he found her on the edge of the wild woods

Bloodied, savage, but alive

Hair in tangles and green eyes blazing

But he discovered this soon enough

He had been walking alone for years now

At first glance, one would say it was a saunter,

but closer inspection clearly betrayed weariness in his tread

He was lonely, you see

and thinking he may be cursed after all

But being of the cynical yet hopeful variety, he walked on-

Hoping that being hopeful was right,

but having lost too many times before, did not hold to hope at all

Yet no part of his soul could leave a lady by the highway,

so he offered to walk with her awhile

Her feet were bleeding, her hands were raw

but she carried herself well, so the wounds barely showed

Like him, you would have to look twice

It’d taken all the courage she’d had to fight through the woods

and find her way clear

She’d been lost for so long, so very long in the dark

She’d run and fought and scrambled, begged and lied and cheated,

to get to the edge of the woods

It’s where he found her

Hands outstretched from the shadows to play with afternoon sunbeams,

a strange smile on her lips

The satisfaction of a battle fought and won mantled her shoulders

She indeed looked savage, but brilliantly alive

And when the man had come towards her unexpectedly,

his blue eyes curious, with enough mischief to light sparking tinder,

she agreed to walk with him a while

She had been lonely in the dark

They kept pace with each other,

slowly coaxing forth hesitant stories from rusty tongues

He was a minstrel, playing and juggling from town to town,

setting the hearts and feet of children on fire

She was a gypsy, long gone from her caravan

and trying to find her road once more

When the sun began to set,

and it was clear no more travel could be done,

they made a fire and he began to play

The song fell slowly from his hands and lips,

and across the flames, she truly looked at his face for the first time that day

Time moved slower, seeming to accommodate the music

and despite all her damage, the gypsy wanted to dance

Her knees were rusty and her movements awkward,

but her feet had stopped bleeding and her hands were beginning to heal

The fluidity came back and soon the fire itself was mimicking

the wicked twirl of skirts

The minstrel played on, heart in his voice and joy in his fingers

And when they kissed,

it was like the memorized steps of a thousand dances,

the familiar notes of a well-loved song

They passed the night in each other’s arms

and so it went for a time

For days they walked together,

never so far apart that they could not touch hands

But he stayed in the middle of the road, knowing the next town to play

and she skirted the edge of the forest

Slipping occasionally into the shadow of sheltering trees,

she would emerge again into the sunlight,

sometimes running ahead in joy,

other times lagging behind and lost with her thoughts

At night, when they were not making love,

he would play her songs and she would dance for him

But when he tried to make her to sing,

for he had heard her humming as they walked,

she would bite her lips and staunchly refuse

Over time, he managed to urge a note or two from her,

like a patient breeze on a stubborn flame

But she could not sing from her heart, though he never knew why

She remained closed, and out of love he no longer pushed

and during the day they would continue on

Her weaving in and out of the shadows-

He watching now from the corner of his eye with worry

One night, he woke to find her gone

He called out her name, but she did not respond

At the start of dawn, she emerged, scraped and bleary from the woods

He shook and shouted, angry and relieved

Her temper flared and her voice quavered

He had seen this coming for a while,

saw her slowly heading back into the wild and the shadows

She adamantly denied wanting to be anywhere but with him,

but when they made love again, there was desperation in her kiss

They continued on that day, but it was subdued

and by the time night fell again, he knew they could no longer pretend

He knew his road, his desire and wanted to continue on

She could not say the same

Though she had emerged victorious from the forest

on the day that he had found her,

she had not reckoned the damage done to her heart

She’d lost her voice, lost her songs, somewhere in the darknesss

and though she fought it every day,

again and again she was drawn back

It cracked her soul in two when he laid forth their forking paths

Continue on with him and away from the woods,

or go on alone, finishing the battle she had already begun

And with those choices, she knew what needed to be done

and though it pained him deeply, so did he

So the minstrel and the gypsy parted ways

He continued on to the next town, working his magic and walking his road

She went back to the woods

Though this time, her hands and feet were healed

and there was a compass in her heart

The minstrel had lent her what hope he’d had

that one day she would find her voice,

find her way forever from the wild and the woods

The gypsy swore to herself that should they meet again,

even if it was not in love,

that she would sing him a song

and return this gift tenfold

The minstrel walked alone once more

Though this time, his steps were less weary,

the worry of a curse long gone

At night, when a singing voice carried in the wind

he would pray for his gypsy finding her way in the dark

and smile to himself

Because once,

long ago,

he found a girl at the edge of the woods,

and even though she could not sing with him,

she had given the only gift she’d had

and danced for him