David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 9,376 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

Jane O'Grady - Poem by David Lewis Paget

Grey old lady, sat by the sea
With her nimble fingers, weaving,
Jane O’Grady, seventy three
In the world that she was leaving.
Hummed sweet honey from virgin lips
In the way of the wind, sad-sighing,
Carried the song from her fingertips
To the day that she lay dying.

Shuttle sang in the early breeze
To the tune of life’s sweet sorrow:
“God, I’m weary of weaving love,
But I’ll not be here tomorrow.”

Grey old lady, worked with a will
On the shawl of life’s sweet pattern,
Fingers stilled in the dawning chill
As the world turned once too often.
Nevermore will she weave the love
That we borrowed, all unknowing,
Only the rags of the hand-me-downs
With the grey wind blowing.

24 November 1974

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Comments about Jane O'Grady by David Lewis Paget

  • (9/26/2007 4:58:00 AM)

    Don't really know exactly why I like this poem... I just do. Beautifully crafted :) Regards AA Gordon. (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Poem Edited: Monday, March 5, 2012


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