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The Sleeping Gypsy (after Rousseau)

By caramel colored candlelight
I viewed the painting there
as it hung upon the plaster wall
and I felt the desert air.

The pale blue moonlight bathes the land
beneath the light-starred skies,
as on the silken, shifting sands,
a sleeping gypsy lies.

He dreams the dreams his father dreamed,
while creatures pass him by,
serenaded by the desert wind's
sonorous, sibilant sigh.

Within his sleep he does not hear
the beast that by him stands,
nor feel it's its bated, billowing breath,
that moves the nearby sands.

The beast, content and unafraid,
moves on beyond the dune,
while in his still, silentious sleep,
the gypsy hears a tune.

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