David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 7,362 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

921. The Second Coming 6/22/2012
922. The Second-Hand Gown 12/24/2015
923. The Secret Women's Clique 9/8/2013
924. The Secret Wood 11/7/2014
925. The Seduction 4/15/2017
926. The Seeds Of Disaster 1/12/2014
927. The Serpent In The Pool 8/4/2013
928. The Seventh Floor 12/9/2013
929. The Shadow Eater 9/21/2015
930. The Shadow Makers 12/23/2014
931. The Shadow Of Elspeth Brown 5/22/2012
932. The Shadow Of God 9/15/2016
933. The Share 11/29/2015
934. The Shopfront Fire 6/8/2015
935. The Sin Eater 5/15/2014
936. The Singer 6/22/2016
937. The Slag Heap 1/8/2016
938. The Smuggler 4/13/2017
939. The Snake 4/27/2013
940. The Snow Queen 1/18/2013
941. The Sooth-Sayer 2/6/2013
942. The Soul Collector 1/4/2013
943. The Sound Of The Spheres 7/25/2012
944. The Spawn Of War 4/8/2015
945. The Spectre 3/16/2017
946. The Spitfire 2/19/2012
947. The Spyders 8/20/2014
948. The Stake 6/6/2012
949. The Stalker 11/16/2012
950. The Stand-Over Man 7/5/2015
951. The Star 9/18/2005
952. The Starlings Have To Be Fed! 4/28/2015
953. The Stepfather 6/22/2015
954. The Stoker 3/19/2009
955. The Storm & The Tall-Ship Pier 11/2/2013
956. The Storyline 8/20/2013
957. The Storyteller 8/22/2014
958. The Strongman 11/10/2016
959. The Submarine 7/27/2016
960. The Switch 8/14/2015
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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