The Wandering Tribe

Laughing with bubbles in their noses
pointing with glee at running strays
with stones in their fists
stoning those at scrappy as they

gleefull dances under street lights
bathing in the bluish eerie glow
they sing in voices of the lost ones
these citizens of no country

they know no home
their allegiance is to nothing
they roam the world
the earth their floor, sky their roof

clearing in the woods
sometimes are lighted by them
dancing and singing around bonfires
in the morning they will be gone

none knows who they really are
the lost tribe wandering still
within their mind in the maze
still lost forty years in the wilderness