The Basket-Makers

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 done—

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 stairs—

They've every day another ride,

Another town to see,

And, in the shade beside the road,

Another picnic tea.