David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 6,961 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

761. The House Of Dread 3/26/2014
762. The House Of The Scarlet Moon 12/2/2008
763. The House The Cleric Built 1/19/2017
764. The Hulks 1/16/2013
765. The Ice Scream 6/14/2013
766. The Icing On The Cake 10/4/2015
767. The Incredible Tattooed Elephant 1/30/2013
768. The Inn Of Jasper Shrine 11/27/2012
769. The Intruder 11/27/2013
770. The Invaders 10/30/2013
771. The Island 10/3/2013
772. The Isle Of Gods 10/16/2014
773. The Isle Of Nevercombak 2/12/2013
774. The Jacaranda Tree 3/11/2016
775. The Judgement 6/12/2015
776. The Key 7/8/2013
777. The Kiss 7/12/2015
778. The Kurdaitcha Tree 7/7/2008
779. The Lady In The Tower 5/4/2009
780. The Lady Jane 11/16/2014
781. The Landau 10/21/2012
782. The Landslide 2/28/2015
783. The Last Day 5/29/2016
784. The Last Dream... 1/19/2010
785. The Last Druid 6/12/2014
786. The Last Friend 7/13/2014
787. The Last Kiss 3/11/2015
788. The Last Of The Breed 10/20/2016
789. The Laundromat 7/26/2013
790. The Lazy Eye 8/9/2015
791. The Liar 6/17/2009
792. The Listening Tree 4/2/2013
793. The Little Toy Shop -new- 4/11/2017
794. The Little Withering Rep. 3/27/2014
795. The Living Dead 6/10/2014
796. The Long Wait 9/22/2014
797. The Lord Of Judgement 4/16/2015
798. The Lord Of Misrule 10/25/2010
799. The Love That Binds 8/29/2012
800. The Magic Pen 3/7/2015
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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