The Enchantment

My grandmother told me that
I was bewitched by Travellers.
I recall a day at our summer house.
I was reading intently on the porch.
Everyone else was in the backyard
or swimming at the timeless river.
A grey and haggard man and woman,
emerged from the deep green woods.
He showed me his marvelous watch
while the old woman combed my hair
as they conversed in their own cant.
I'm told I slept for days after that,
and I still lose my present sense.
I imagine or dream, never sure which,
of music emanating from the trees,
and girls dancing in some joyous rite,
all festooned in tinkling jewels
with fragrant flowers in their hair.
Dark eyed men with flawless skin
pour rich red wines into my cup
while time bleeds its significance
and death seems an impossibility.
Sometimes the Travellers are there,
restored in their beauty and vitality.
They are the keepers of the spell.
We have secrets I can never tell.