Tired of endless sewing and picking
The woman leaves for some air
Once out of sight the debtor's eyes
She ran towards the alleys
The Flight wanted something
Very very badly
She'd find something out no standing still
She'd somehow find a way
In a bar room she walked so firm
Silence falls around her
All eyes watch her warily
As she takes a seat alone
Slowly chatter rises again
A wide berth's given her
Soon a young one approaches her
Words begin to share
Soon a crowd is gathered close
As she tells old gypsy tales
In comfort they begin to speak
Of their own strange happenings
Odd sounds that echo in the night
Sounds like owls or planes
The woman recognizes the mark
The Flight is not alone.
Next Week: Patterns of the Past
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