Gypsy

This morning, I woke to full daylight,
in a home that still feels cold as night.
Living like a gypsy who walked into an abandoned house.
Wearing clothes from the closets and stealing food like a mouse.
Clothes hung out to dry here and there on door moldings.
Tops, bras, and jeans, a theft things from the place I'm holding.
It belonged to a writer, a despondent middle aged man.
Who seemed heavy hearted because his life didn't go as planned.
The story ends when a free spirited gypsy moved in.
It feels almost as if it always should have been.