Ron Nigrini
John Nigrini (1908-1992) at the cymbalom c.1945
gypsy
play my song
when
i was a young boy up to my daddy's knee
he gave to me his heart in a song of the old country
it was the gift of a melody, the meaning of a land,
a simple way of telling me that he understands.
his eyes were as black as the coals he mined, his skin was an olive hue
and when he danced with mama, my mama knew.
his heart was as big as an old cook stove, his feet were on the fly
and when he laughed i swear the sun never left the sky.
oh
how i hear the strains of old
the violin, the heart and the home.
oh how i felt it all along.
gypsy, play my song.
one
night alone together, we sang a song or two
drank to the life of a good wife, as only men can do.
a precious gift he held for me: it was the looking glass
a window to the future and a mirror of the past.
and now i stand with a young boy up to his daddy's knee
the mirror of a man i know remains in me
he's travelled all the oceans to the avenues of life
struck upon emotion like a gypsy in the night.
oh
how i hear the strains of old
the violin, the heart and the home
oh how i felt it all along
gypsy, play my song.
(1977)
