David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 6,493 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

361. Ninety Steps 10/26/2016
362. No Emails! 3/6/2013
363. No Escape! 3/6/2015
364. No Man's Land 1/6/2009
365. No-Name The Cat 9/18/2005
366. Nostradamus 9/18/2005
367. Not Enough... 7/21/2015
368. Now That I'M Mad 10/4/2005
369. Nowhere -new- 3/14/2017
370. Obit. 3/2/2008
371. Obsession 9/16/2015
372. Of Loss And Love 6/16/2015
373. Oliver's Head 5/26/2013
374. On My Mother's 80th. 9/18/2005
375. On The Death Of John Lennon 9/30/2005
376. On The Death Of My Father 9/17/2005
377. On The Lam 11/29/2012
378. On The Other Side Of The Door 10/8/2014
379. On The Raising Of The Mary Rose 9/30/2005
380. On Your 48th. 9/18/2005
381. Once All The Books Are Gone! 9/26/2014
382. Once, When The World Of Trees.... 9/17/2005
383. One By One... 7/20/2006
384. One Lonely Night 9/17/2005
385. One Mad Summer... 5/23/2009
386. One September Night 9/18/2005
387. One Step On 9/30/2005
388. One Word Swallowed 9/17/2005
389. One-Sided Conversation 4/9/2008
390. Only The View 12/19/2014
391. Oradour-Sur-Glane 2/12/2012
392. Our Parting Ways 12/1/2014
393. Out Of Time! 9/15/2013
394. Overboard 7/19/2015
395. Palaces Of Glass 9/27/2007
396. Panzer 10/29/2009
397. Parting Note 9/16/2013
398. Passenger From Childhood 9/18/2005
399. Payback! 12/27/2008
400. Pen And Ink 9/18/2005
Best Poem of David Lewis Paget

Swan Song

Her hair was as black as a starling's tail,
Her cheeks as pale as a swan,
Her eyes, like two slim moonstones, glowed
And her mouth was the Holy Grail.
She'd played in the dirt of the village street
So long ago, so long...
She'd swum in the pools of the mountain stream,
But now, that girl had gone.

While I still rise with the early bird
To tend to my father's fields,
As the only son of an only son
I watched the woman leave.
She cried sweet tears as she said farewell
And vowed to come back, and soon,
But the village streets of a western ...

Read the full of Swan Song

Spirit

‘I died early, ’ said the Spirit,
‘So I didn’t have the chance to learn,
And though I don’t exactly burn
With envy for your thirty years,
It’s such a pity dying young,
The pleasures of a youth, unsung…
For all I left behind of me
Were memories of my mother’s pain
In birth and death,

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