David Lewis Paget

Veteran Poet - 1,864 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

761. The Terror 11/24/2014
762. The Terrorist 1/14/2009
763. The Thing In The Tent 7/19/2013
764. The Threat Of The Weaker Sex 12/18/2014
765. The Tide Is Coming In! 7/30/2014
766. The Tiger 9/18/2005
767. The Time Has Come... 4/11/2008
768. The Timeless Cave In The Cliff 9/15/2014
769. The Toadstool Man 12/7/2013
770. The Tourist Plan 7/27/2012
771. The Tower 11/17/2013
772. The Train 10/5/2013
773. The Tree By Calder's Gap 9/1/2013
774. The Trove At Bioda Mor 8/5/2010
775. The Tryst 8/23/2012
776. The Turncoat 9/28/2005
777. The Twin With The Purple Heart 2/25/2010
778. The Tyburn Jig 1/21/2014
779. The Undertaker 2/19/2013
780. The Upside Of Down 10/8/2013
781. The Upstairs Witch 9/20/2014
782. The Valley Of Discontent 9/29/2013
783. The Valley Of Dreadful Night 4/15/2012
784. The Valley Of Maggie Grey 9/17/2013
785. The Vanishing Lake 4/4/2013
786. The Ventriloquist 12/28/2011
787. The Very Last Page 7/4/2013
788. The Village Of Helsomewhere 1/26/2014
789. The Village That Wasn'T There! 7/22/2014
790. The Virus 1/29/2013
791. The Visitant 2/8/2013
792. The Voice In The Upstairs Room 3/9/2014
793. The Wages Of Sin 1/3/2015
794. The Wake 2/21/2015
795. The Waker Of Dreams 7/21/2013
796. The Warder Of Cruel Delight 2/24/2013
797. The Watcher 1/20/2015
798. The Water God 3/3/2013
799. The Water Tower 9/18/2005
800. The Web 10/12/2012
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

The Many Lyves Of...

I’d never felt comfortable in that house
Not once, since we’d moved on in,
A rambling, derelict, barn of a house,
Three storeys of age-old sin.
Nobody said there’d been murders there,
Or told of the gypsy’s curse,
Three hundred years of discarded junk
And I don’t know which was worse.

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