Eternal YouthA Poem by David Lewis Paget Be careful what you wish for... I
was travelling through a countryside That
I’d never seen before, As
it grew dark, the mountainsides Loomed
threatening, over my car, The
cloud hung low in a louring sky And
my headlights cut through the gloom, Ahead
on the twisting, bending road I
had hopes of a cosy room. There
wasn’t a house or a farm out there, The
valley was threading down, The
deeper it went, the darker yet With
still no sign of a town, I
thought that I’d have to drive all night And
my eyes were growing dim, When
back in the trees, I saw a light And
a sign: ‘The Dew Drop Inn’. I
pulled at the bell for the Publican And
I heard a shuffle inside, A
shadow loomed, and the hinges creaked And
the door swung open wide, A
man so gaunt that his face was grey And
his sallow cheeks were thin, Stood
trembling in the doorway there In
the hall of the Dew Drop Inn!’ I
followed him in, not saying a word, He
motioned me into the bar, Then poured me a whiskey and water While
I stared at a glass topped jar, It
drew my gaze as I sipped my drink For
the contents bubbled and swirled, And
I said: ‘Just where is the Dew Drop Inn?’ He
replied: ‘At the End of the World!’ His
voice came bubbling out of his chest Like
the rasp of a rusty saw, His
hands were trembling, where they lay And
he kept his eyes on the door. ‘That
jar, it changes its colours, look! From
red, through green and gold…’ He
said: ‘They told me one sip from that And
a man would never grow old!’ I
stared at him, and I saw him frown With
a tear at the edge of his eye, This
ancient man with the trembling hand And
I said: ‘Well, that was a lie!’ He
shook his head and he turned to me ‘It
depends what you want it for, I
was twenty-two when I took my sip… I’m
a hundred and sixty four!’ ‘I
didn’t age for a hundred years I
revelled in youth, so long, But
suddenly I grew weary, thought That
there must have been something wrong! I
lost the zest for a youthful life, Was
beginning to feel my years, All
of my friends were dead and gone, This
life is a valley of tears!’ ‘You’re
telling me that one sip from this Will
give me a hundred - True? I’ll
still be fit and I’ll still be strong, At
a hundred and thirty two?’ ‘You
will, but there’s a condition You
must take on the Dew Drop Inn, And
stay in this cursèd valley then ‘Til
a seeker of youth walks in!’ I’m
standing behind the counter with My
eyes on the outer door, I’ve
stood like stone for forty years And
paced a track on the floor, The
Publican left, the moment I sipped He
went with a joyous cry, In
search of a path from the Dew Drop Inn Where
at last, he could finally die! David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured ReviewReviews
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