Like a Gypsy in Rome

"When in Rome," ya know?
That's sort of how I lived my life;
it wasn't all choice
not always many choices

There were cities and sky-scrapers,
small towns and patch-work farms,
books and computers
coffeehouses and bars...
too many bars
professors and money and expectations...
too many expectations

For a different person
the opportunities I found and made
could have worked out beautifully,
for someone not terribly curious
about what might lie in those empty woods,
what tales the oceans might have to tell,
what it all might mean

It is sometimes glorious
to be a gypsy in Rome,
to walk roads worn by few brave feet
taking whatever is offered you
(bound by neither dogma nor creed)
and then, when the wind is right,
to change it all
for another set of clothes

But the key to being a gypsy
is to remember you're a gypsy
to take your chips and pack your suit-case
when the moon is full

Otherwise, one morning
you'll wake up as I do,
and look in the mirror
at a worn face you barely know