What then you ask, might be a family
is it a bunch of people thrown together?
Or is it God's own plan up in his gallery
creating birds that share a common feather?
A new arrival, Spring's delicious bud
conceived through love as others have before
is placed into your arms, it is your blood.
a promise for your future, gypsy lore.
The winds of change are whispering to me
my sun remembers  where to send those rays
and when the darkness comes (when will it be?)
there always is the moon, he has his ways.