Wandering
© 2008 By Elisa Williams
They drove us from the land
that we had called our own
made us wanders and vagabonds
children of all the world
The cold wind hears our sighs
and the rain hides our tears
for our children know not what bread is
nor how warm a fire burns
We have nowhere to rest
from place to place we roam
we are sojourners and gypsy folk
despised by all mankind
Our loved dead lie lonesome
without a mark of stone
we know not where the dear-ones take rest
once we have moved on by
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