She played in a restaurant along that road
that leads down to the water ; she played and her Dad sang
Romani songs ; she danced as she played and
we clapped and ate & drank while their lives
unfolded every night, for our entertainment
which later was a sad kind of knowledge ...
She was playing alone under the trees on Falcon Street, in the park ;
a friend, Peter Lodge knew her ; shadows deepened, there were
streetlights. Of course I fell in love ~ I doubt she knew I existed.
I couldn't speak her language ;
I never saw her smile.
I never would have known if not for Peter,
how far Zita and her father had to come, just to play.