David Lewis Paget > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

There lives a poet beyond the trees But all that he writes is pain, He spends his evenings down on his knees Regretting the way he ca..

There isn’t much left of The Grange today, There isn’t much left at all, Only a charred left wing, I think, And the odd, ..

I used to think that thunder was The sound of the Hammer, Thor, He’d beat it up on the clouds above Each time he was waging war..

The Lord High Constable’s men came down To Camberwell’s village square, They asked the Crier to call Oyez To gather the v..

When the King rode off to the old Crusades He was leaving his Queen behind, Safe in the hands of his former aids He was coy, but he w..

He only appears in the pouring rain When all the gutters are clogged, I asked if anyone knew his name They said, but my ears were blo..

We lived on a tiny spit of land That they called the Harkness Light, It sat on a reef, a mile of sand And it beamed out through the n..

The carts rolled out of the warehouses And trawled each single street, Each drawn by a giant Clydesdale with Those massive hooves and..

When I met, and married my wife, I opened a secret door, I knew that her mother, Grace, was strange But I didn’t know what for...

Since ever he came to live at our house We’d never felt safe or sure, So late at night we’d turn out the light And block ..