David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 6,982 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

361. Necronicon 11/15/2009
362. Nemesis 7/7/2013
363. Never Come Here Again! 1/15/2015
364. Never The God... 9/18/2005
365. New Souls For Old 8/1/2013
366. Next Time Around 5/20/2014
367. Night Mites 1/9/2013
368. Ninety Steps 10/26/2016
369. No Emails! 3/6/2013
370. No Escape! 3/6/2015
371. No Man's Land 1/6/2009
372. No-Name The Cat 9/18/2005
373. Nostradamus 9/18/2005
374. Not Enough... 7/21/2015
375. Now That I'M Mad 10/4/2005
376. Nowhere 3/14/2017
377. Obit. 3/2/2008
378. Obsession 9/16/2015
379. Of Loss And Love 6/16/2015
380. Oliver's Head 5/26/2013
381. On My Mother's 80th. 9/18/2005
382. On The Death Of John Lennon 9/30/2005
383. On The Death Of My Father 9/17/2005
384. On The Lam 11/29/2012
385. On The Other Side Of The Door 10/8/2014
386. On The Raising Of The Mary Rose 9/30/2005
387. On Your 48th. 9/18/2005
388. Once All The Books Are Gone! 9/26/2014
389. Once, When The World Of Trees.... 9/17/2005
390. One By One... 7/20/2006
391. One Lonely Night 9/17/2005
392. One Mad Summer... 5/23/2009
393. One September Night 9/18/2005
394. One Step On 9/30/2005
395. One Word Swallowed 9/17/2005
396. One-Sided Conversation 4/9/2008
397. Only The View 12/19/2014
398. Oradour-Sur-Glane 2/12/2012
399. Our Parting Ways 12/1/2014
400. Out Of Time! 9/15/2013
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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