David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 7,827 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

David Lewis Paget Poems

1121. War Of Words 10/15/2013
1122. Waters Into Wine 9/17/2005
1123. Wattle & Daub 6/3/2009
1124. Waxwork 4/12/2013
1125. Wedlock 3/1/2016
1126. Well We Might 9/18/2005
1127. What Happened To The Day? 10/17/2008
1128. What Happens? 12/26/2014
1129. What's In A Name? 5/7/2008
1130. When Our Days Are Minutes... 9/17/2005
1131. When Peggity Pulled The Cord 5/16/2013
1132. When The Welsh Of Wales Go Home 9/18/2005
1133. Whenever The Mist... 7/5/2017
1134. Where Are The Birds Of Wenzhou, Bei Bei 11/8/2005
1135. While I Write And Breathe... 3/8/2008
1136. Whispering Walls 3/21/2016
1137. White Horses 9/18/2005
1138. Who Cares? 9/30/2005
1139. Why Does My Faith... 10/23/2007
1140. Widdershins 6/20/2012
1141. Winter Comes... 3/15/2008
1142. Witching Kate 1/4/2017
1143. Woman 3/30/2008
1144. Woman In Black 11/4/2012
1145. Woman In Child 9/18/2005
1146. Woman Of Stone 3/15/2012
1147. Wood Men 1/25/2013
1148. Words 9/30/2005
1149. Would He Even Know Me Now? 3/4/2008
1150. Wrong Mountain! 12/18/2014
1151. Wry! 11/6/2009
1152. Www. 6/9/2008
1153. Wych Elm 9/18/2005
1154. Yellow Moss 8/15/2016
1155. Yesterdays Lost 2/11/2013
1156. Yggdrasil 10/27/2009
1157. You Can'T Come In! 7/17/2014
1158. You Can'T Go Out Today! 10/4/2013
1159. You Were Only Talking... 2/22/2008
1160. You'Ve Got Magic! 4/30/2009
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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