The Deserted Village

There’s a road on the hill, leads down to the plain

Where once was a village before the Black Plague,

And the old stone walls that marked off the fields

Lie hidden by the village called Tiverton Lees.

 

Where the gorse has flourished since the old crops died

Laid waste, un-nourished through the countryside,

And the old plough furrows ripple down through the vale

Where the farmhands idled, swilling lunchtime ale!

 

There are marks on the ground, along the main street

Worn smooth by the passages of carts and feet,

And the old foundations of the King’s Head Inn

Lie stark, untroubled, where the men filed in.

 

The land lies fallow by the old cattle byres

While hearthstones, burnt, tell of warm cottage fires,

Of children, spooning at their hot pottages,

And wives, sat darning in their warm cottages.

 

But the mounds, in relief, lie, row after row

And the hillside’s grief sighs, covered in snow,

When the world turned once, and caught at its breath

To visit on the village what they called ‘The Black Death!’

 

Lost, all lost, are the dreams and the tears,

The love that was made, and the hopes and the fears,

There hasn’t been a burial, wedding or a sneeze

For seven hundred years, in Tiverton Lees!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Mark Anthony Games (Hum..]

Ok, I think you are my new favorite writer on Writers Cafe! I have a thing about old places. I have spent my life trying to be noticed but of so many all that remains is ruins, gravestones and tales. Scotland, especially the island bare remarkable hints to the sight, sounds and emotions of the highland clearances. What was all that struggle for now that the weeds and moss grows, now that silence filters through the thorns and now that all that knew of the men and women have thinned and weakened. What can be the point of our existence, other than to leave ruins to inspire and intrigue some future unknowing soul.

[zainul]

Dear David,
I feel very honored to be invited to read a poem that touches any heart.You have vividly depicted the deserted village which suffered ‘The Black Death!’ due to the Black Plague.You have guided your reader to see the old plough furrows ripple down through the vale and the land lies fallow by the old cattle byres.You described how the hillside’s grief sighs, covered in snow.
I could see the sad incidents that took place in through your magical write
in the village called Tiverton Lees.
The tragic incident was summarized with topmost mastery in the last stanza:

"Lost, all lost, are the dreams and the tears,

The love that was made, and the hopes and the fears,

There hasn’t been a burial, wedding or a sneeze

For seven hundred years, in Tiverton Lees!"

I am grateful to you for writing the history in verses to perpetuate the tragic event.
Best regards,
Zainul

[Muse]

Melancholy..and a personal journey through a macabre way of life that was fortunately...before our time. I can't imagine..in a million years...how that kind of suffering could have possibly happened. But it did...and it's interesting the landscape you paint. Warm cottage fires...children eating their porridge....despite being surrounded by death literally...that was the only normalcy they probably could share with one another. I also imagine the silence...it must have been deafening. How could you console a soul or a family going through such a loss...the stench...the decay...it's just too hard to imagine. I can only hope that modern medicine will prevail...and spare us from history repeating itself.

Lost, all lost, are the dreams and the tears,

The love that was made, and the hopes and the fears,

There hasn’t been a burial, wedding or a sneeze

Grant them mercy...mercy please!

[Marie]

This is eerie. Imagine--a whole village tone that used to be the heart and hearth of life.