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Old Meg she was a gipsy,
And lived upon the moors,
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o’ broom,
Her wine was dew o’ the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her brothers were the craggy hills,
Her sisters larchen trees –
Alone with great family
She lived as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And ‘stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the moon.
But every morn of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen yew
She wove, and she would sing.
And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited mats o’ rushes,
And gave them to the cottagers
She met among the bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen
And tall as Amazon,
An old red blanket cloak she wore,
A clip-hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere –
She died full long agon.
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Мег, циганката стара,
живяла сред блата,
постеля бил й торфът мек,
а дом й бил света.
Росата вино й била,
а ябълки пък – касис чер.
Не чела книги, вместо тях –
надгробни плочи на фенер.
Брат бил й всеки скален рид,
сестра – една ела.
Сред този многоброен род
самотница била.
И често даже дни наред
не вкусвала храна,
стърчала – нощен силует,
в подлунна свeтлина.
От тис, ракита, майски сняг*
венци така добре
плетяла старата жена
без песните да спре.
С умели пръсти – с мургав тен,
беряла заранта
папур, рогозки да плете
за хората в града.
Същинска амазонка Мег
била – по дух аскет,
плащ ален топлел й гърба,
главата – стар каскет.
Отдавна Господ я прибра.
И тя по – своя ред.
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* майски сняг – нисък храст с тънки клонки (Spirаea vanhouttei)
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