David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 7,803 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

921. The Ring-Pull Chain 9/26/2007
922. The Rival 4/30/2014
923. The Room In The Albert Mall 10/14/2015
924. The Rose 1/14/2017
925. The Ruined Church 11/27/2014
926. The Sacrifice 4/7/2017
927. The Sacrifice And The Cloud 11/14/2014
928. The Saga Of Li Ning-Yang 3/7/2013
929. The Saxon Bride 1/17/2013
930. The Scarecrow 7/30/2013
931. The Schoolyard Flirt 1/16/2017
932. The Scribe In The Woods Of Time 3/11/2012
933. The Script 3/4/2015
934. The Season Of The Witch 10/14/2012
935. The Second Coming 6/22/2012
936. The Second-Hand Gown 12/24/2015
937. The Secret Women's Clique 9/8/2013
938. The Secret Wood 11/7/2014
939. The Seduction 4/15/2017
940. The Seeds Of Disaster 1/12/2014
941. The Serpent In The Pool 8/4/2013
942. The Seventh Floor 12/9/2013
943. The Shadow Eater 9/21/2015
944. The Shadow Makers 12/23/2014
945. The Shadow Of Elspeth Brown 5/22/2012
946. The Shadow Of God 9/15/2016
947. The Share 11/29/2015
948. The Shopfront Fire 6/8/2015
949. The Sin Eater 5/15/2014
950. The Singer 6/22/2016
951. The Slag Heap 1/8/2016
952. The Smuggler 4/13/2017
953. The Snake 4/27/2013
954. The Snow Queen 1/18/2013
955. The Sooth-Sayer 2/6/2013
956. The Soul Collector 1/4/2013
957. The Sound Of The Spheres 7/25/2012
958. The Spawn Of War 4/8/2015
959. The Spectre 3/16/2017
960. The Spitfire 2/19/2012
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

Spirit

‘I died early, ’ said the Spirit,
‘So I didn’t have the chance to learn,
And though I don’t exactly burn
With envy for your thirty years,
It’s such a pity dying young,
The pleasures of a youth, unsung…
For all I left behind of me
Were memories of my mother’s pain
In birth and death,

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