Treasure Island

David Lewis Paget

(22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

The Music of the Reeds


It had been the worst of years, I seemed
To always be in strife,
First my business in receivership
And then my darling wife,
She decided that our poverty,
Once Banks had seized our home,
Was the perfect opportunity
For her to leave, and roam.

So she roamed with a protector,
The accountant I'd released,
When I found that through his perfidy
I'd have to call the police,
He was always just one step ahead,
My wife knew me too well,
So they took the Channel Ferry, left
This fool, to rot in hell!

I was heading for a breakdown,
All this fretting, and the grief,
I was hell-bent on disaster,
Vowed to catch this blatant thief,
And my wife, I would have killed her
For disloyalty, I swear,
So I followed them through Europe,
Catching glimpses, everywhere.

But they managed to elude me
And I ended up in Greece,
I had gone through all the money
I had salvaged for the chase,
With what little I had left, I found
A villa I could rent,
By a woodland, in the marshes
I could brood on what I'd spent.

It was broken down and basic,
Had been empty there for years,
And the roof was badly leaking,
Rain could mingle with my tears,
I felt sorry for myself, and it
Was lonely, stuck out there,
Where the isolated shepherd came
To see, to stand and stare.

But they soon had lost their interest
In the stranger in their midst,
I was left to brood in silence
Walk the woodland in the mist,
And I skirted round the marshes
Where there lay a shallow lake,
It was fresh, and it was verdant
And unspoiled by man's estate.

When the weather was idyllic
I would sit and think of Beth,
Of the time there on the hillside
Where the world had held its breath,
But the years of wine and flowers
They had slowly been submerged,
And with age, the passion sours
As we lose that primal urge.

I would lie awake at midnight
Hear the music of the reeds,
With the wind so gently playing
Through the marshes and the trees,
And one night I left the villa
When I heard a certain note,
And I saw a sudden movement,
That I thought must be a goat.

But my eyes had slowly focussed,
It seemed old and tired, and turned
And it stared at me quite sadly
It had horns, a beard that curled,
And it stood up on the hindquarters
A goat is noted for,
And it clutched the pipes of Pan
To breathe soft music, from its core.

It stood there for but a moment
Then it walked into the wood,
With its shoulders bowed and beaten,
And it staggered as it moved,
But the music was so wistful
Of a love, long lost before,
That my eyes began to glisten
As the lake lapped at the shore.

In a month I'd met with Gaya
Who I'd seen, back through the trees,
Dancing gently in the moonlight
Casting petals in the breeze,
And she came back to the villa
Where she saw to all my needs,
And we lie in love, and listen
To the Music of the Reeds.

14 September 2012

Submitted: Friday, September 14, 2012
Edited: Friday, September 14, 2012

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