The Angry Vagabonds
Copyright 15/10/12 by Raymond Daley
When I was but a child it was still a time of magic, all animals still spoke with the voice of man.
We moved too often, unable to put down roots, unable to make any kind of home.
People knew our sort, always cursed by their judgement.
We would arrive and go about our ways, hunting and scouting, but before long the accusation of crime would reach us again.
"Cry Murder!" would go up the call, by one and by all.
And with no chance to defend our name we would move on again, flitting away with them cursing us still.
A new town, a new village, no more than a few days ever anywhere. We lived on the move, this was the life I was born into.