David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 8,565 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

961. Cursed Voyage 1/20/2013
962. The Concubine 11/7/2012
963. Snakes Alive! 2/15/2013
964. Natural Man 2/7/2013
965. The Hulks 1/16/2013
966. Blind Man's Buff 10/5/2012
967. Up In The Attic 9/20/2012
968. The Peterloo Massacre 9/21/2012
969. The Eclipse 7/23/2012
970. The Castle Of Lost In Time 8/20/2012
971. Dark Angels 8/15/2012
972. The Second Coming 6/22/2012
973. The Dragon Ring 7/13/2012
974. The Bellman 3/31/2012
975. The Scribe In The Woods Of Time 3/11/2012
976. The Endless Taxi 6/23/2006
977. The Spitfire 2/19/2012
978. First Foot 1/1/2012
979. Love, To A Fault! 10/11/2009
980. Armada 10/19/2009
981. Czechmate! 6/22/2009
982. Bones! 1/16/2009
983. Harry The Wu 4/13/2009
984. At Journey's End 3/5/2009
985. Chinese Box 10/25/2008
986. The Cornishman 6/8/2008
987. Byron Bay 10/12/2005
988. Red Sky Warning 9/18/2005
989. The Old Wife's Mood 9/18/2005
990. On My Mother's 80th. 9/18/2005
991. Lines On A Mormon Missionary 9/30/2005
992. When The Welsh Of Wales Go Home 9/18/2005
993. Tallyn Tor 9/17/2005
994. In A Cemetery... 9/26/2007
995. One-Sided Conversation 4/9/2008
996. The Hand Of Tong Bao Lin 11/8/2008
997. Cliff House 11/18/2008
998. Yggdrasil 10/27/2009
999. Close To The Edge 1/8/2012
1000. China Blue 6/14/2012
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

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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