Doggers and I are going to become Gypsy Kings and wear leather breeches and hoop earrings.
We’re going to build a wagon with shingles and a smoke stack and a honeybee, and hook it to a mule named Marcus Aurelius and travel from one end of the farm to the other...then back.
We’re going to camp out under full moons, new moons, blue moons and harvest moons.
We’re going to build bonfires and play mandolins with curly headstocks, and sing and dance like dust devils.
We’re going to make two Gypsy Queens out of smoke and starshine, and the four of us will see more of the World than has ever been seen.
We’re going to eat nothing but yogurt and raisins and peaches all year, and honey from bees in a tree.
We’ll laugh and we’ll stomp and we’ll never come home because home is right where we’ll be.
But not Delmar.
Delmar licked the butter.