The ordinary merchant
Lives just like you or I;
His house is made of brick or stone,
His rooms are warm and dry;
And if we want his merchandise,
On foot or in a 'bus
We journey to his shop, because,
His shop won't come to us.
But Basket-making Gipsies
Consider people more:
They harness horses to their house
And bring it to your door;
And 'neath the shelter of the trees
It stands when day is
A kitchen, bedroom, workroom, shop
And nursery in one.
The Basket-making Gipsies,
A pleasant life is theirs,
Without the sameness of a street,
The weariness of
They've every day another ride,
Another town to see,
And, in the shade beside the road,
Another picnic tea.