AlisaA Poem by David Lewis PagetI
couldn’t sleep in the stableyard, I
couldn’t sleep in the house, I
crept around in the dark out there As
quiet as any mouse, With
just one name in my fevered brain It
was all I could do to think, Alisa,
oh Alisa, you Have
blotted my mind with ink. Since
ever you came to stay last month I’ve
been besotted with you, My
eyes would follow you round the room Though
I hadn’t wanted them to, I
hoped that your eyes would follow me As
I served the Lord, His Grace, Dressed
in the finest livery But
you turned away your face. I
know I’m only a servant here But
my heart’s as big as the Moon, And
you are the daughter of an Earl With
a fortune coming soon, You
could have your pick of a dozen men With
titles, Barons and Earls, But
you’ll never find love as deep and fine As
the meanest of servant girls. For
you have money and they have love, For
that is all that they want, While
you’re betrothed to a Stately Home And
a man of provenance, He’ll
barely notice you once you’ve wed Your
fortune to his estate, He’ll
sit at the gambling tables, while You’re
pondering on your fate. He’ll
sally forth in his hunting while He’ll
keep you busy at home, Lording
it over the servants hall Or
you’ll spend your hours alone. Once
he’s certain that you’re enceinte He’ll
look in, once in a while, To
see that you raise the future Lord In
a certain lordly style. Alisa,
why can’t you see it You
could be more than fancy free, Roaming
over the countryside In
a horse and chaise, with me, We’d
sleep out there in a haystack Under
the warm and starry skies, And
every time that you looked my way You’d
see lovelight in my eyes. I’d
treat you more like a princess than Some
lord, with cynical stare, Who
leaves to meet with his mistress In
some attic, in Mayfair, We’d
find us a little cottage On
the moors, you’d bake the bread, We’d
drink the fruit of the vine until It’s
time to go to bed. My
heart is just about bursting, so I’ve
written you this note, Thinking
you’ll never find it, but I
can always live in hope, I’ll
always love you Alisa, ‘til The
stars fall from the sky, And
when I am old I’ll read it, and I’ll
sit and wonder - ‘Why?’ You
must have gone through my letters For
you stare, as never you’ve done, Dressed
in a pair of jodhpurs With
your hair, tied up in a bun, You
turn and beckon me out to you And
my heart drops down to the floor, You
say, ‘I haven’t a chaise, my love, I’ve
got us a coach and four!’ David
Lewis Paget © 2013 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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