David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 6,198 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. Obit. 3/2/2008
370. Obsession 9/16/2015
371. Of Loss And Love 6/16/2015
372. Oliver's Head 5/26/2013
373. On My Mother's 80th. 9/18/2005
374. On The Death Of John Lennon 9/30/2005
375. On The Death Of My Father 9/17/2005
376. On The Lam 11/29/2012
377. On The Other Side Of The Door 10/8/2014
378. On The Raising Of The Mary Rose 9/30/2005
379. On Your 48th. 9/18/2005
380. Once All The Books Are Gone! 9/26/2014
381. Once, When The World Of Trees.... 9/17/2005
382. One By One... 7/20/2006
383. One Lonely Night 9/17/2005
384. One Mad Summer... 5/23/2009
385. One September Night 9/18/2005
386. One Step On 9/30/2005
387. One Word Swallowed 9/17/2005
388. One-Sided Conversation 4/9/2008
389. Only The View 12/19/2014
390. Oradour-Sur-Glane 2/12/2012
391. Our Parting Ways 12/1/2014
392. Out Of Time! 9/15/2013
393. Overboard 7/19/2015
394. Palaces Of Glass 9/27/2007
395. Panzer 10/29/2009
396. Parting Note 9/16/2013
397. Passenger From Childhood 9/18/2005
398. Payback! 12/27/2008
399. Pen And Ink 9/18/2005
400. Pengellen 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

Sir John De Vere

Sir John de Vere has took a quill
And set himself to sit and write
The sweetest love that is of men
To take unto his heart's delight.

And he has took a damsel fair
That flitteth by, beseemingly,
And with a strand of golden hair
Begun to weave her mystery.

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