David Lewis Paget Poems

He came on home to an empty house
In the early morning chill,
The one he’d left when his blood was up
And he’d bent her to his will.
...

It looked all right through the windows of
Our cosy sitting room,
The day was light and the sun was bright
But the house was like a tomb,
...

The farm at Little Rottingdeane
Lay fallow for a year,
Since Cromwell’s Ironsides had spent
The winter, quartered there,
...

The news spread over the countryside
As a clatter from iron rails,
The ominous sound of clacketty-clack
From their intersecting trails,
...

Always a bit of a mystery,
She lived in a seaside shack,
Would go to town when the sun was down
The widow of Martin Black.
...

She’d gone on her own to the party,
But sadly, for she was alone,
Her partner had left her in limbo,
Had not even said he was going.
...

‘I’m coming to get you now, ’ he said,
‘I’m coming to get you tonight! ’
Derek sat with his headset on,
His face was white with fright.
...

He was nothing if not successful,
Grant Overman with his pen,
Everything that he seemed to write
Was well received back then,
...

‘There are times and tides in every life,
There are things we never planned, ’
The old man said to his grandson there
As he took him by the hand,
...

They said he was always a hothead,
As a kid he’d scream and shout,
He got so bad, made his mother mad
That his father locked him out.
...