Home Acre Poem by David Lewis Paget

Is this your home-acre
Dark beauty of mine,
Cold winds and rash words
And long hurts and harsh wine,
Caught fast in disasters
That seldom relent,
Am I your un-maker
My sweet discontent?

Is this your home-acre
This bleak, loveless tor,
Where promises are lost in
The dreams on your shore,
Where all that you hoped for
And wished for your own
Was left in harsh soil with
The seeds that I’d sown?

6 September 1979