David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 4,974 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

1. The End Of The Affair -new- 9/23/2016
2. The Grindylow -new- 9/20/2016
3. Walking On Broken Glass -new- 9/22/2016
4. Keeper Of The Light 1/2/2016
5. The Tree That Wouldn't Shut Up! 1/4/2016
6. The Slag Heap 1/8/2016
7. The Feather Quill 1/12/2016
8. The Graveyard Stones 1/19/2016
9. Cock O' The North 1/25/2016
10. The Dance Of The Leaftaking 1/30/2016
11. Dreamwake 2/3/2016
12. Doctor Bones 2/8/2016
13. Planetary Wiz 2/13/2016
14. Strangers 2/18/2016
15. Bon Voyage 2/23/2016
16. Two Steps Closer To Hell 2/25/2016
17. Wedlock 3/1/2016
18. The Black Dog Run 3/3/2016
19. A Winter's Tale 8/23/2016
20. Black Dog Night 8/26/2016
21. The Unwelcome Guest 8/28/2016
22. Ballet Shoes 8/29/2016
23. Lovers Spat 8/30/2016
24. Royal Funeral 9/3/2016
25. A Hard Parting 9/7/2016
26. The Back Lane Murder -new- 9/12/2016
27. The Flood -new- 9/14/2016
28. The Shadow Of God -new- 9/15/2016
29. The House In The Lane 11/4/2015
30. A Question Of Faith 11/10/2015
31. Goblin Dell 11/11/2015
32. The Abbot's Loft 11/13/2015
33. The Poetry Barn 11/22/2015
34. Into The Light 11/22/2015
35. Crossing The Bridge 11/24/2015
36. The Monster & The Candle 12/2/2015
37. The Conquistador 12/6/2015
38. Guardians Of The Chest 12/12/2015
39. Slither And Scale 12/15/2015
40. Waiting For You! 10/18/2015
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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