Strange Pathways

The gardens are laid in rows and lines

Laid out like a colourful maze,

The gates are open from eight ‘til nine,

All week, and Saturdays.

But Sundays they open the gates ‘til ten

They are lit by coloured lights,

I like to wander the strange pathways

But prefer to go by night.

 

I tell my Sally she ought to come

But she never has, ‘til now,

Her head is always stuck in a book

She’s what you might call highbrow.

One Sunday night, she said she’d come

We got to the gates by eight,

The lights were twinkling in the groves

And the Moon had risen late.

 

We walked by the beds of petunias,

Snapdragons and daffodils,

The heady perfume was rising up

And strange, but it gave me chills.

We took a fork where the wood was dense

With natives, bushes and trees,

But Sally tripped by a eucalypt,

And ended skinning her knees.

 

We sat on a garden bench nearby

And mentioned how quiet it was,

The pathway there was a yellow brick

Just like the Wizard of Oz.

We thought, ‘We’re the only ones in here,’

By ten, but she couldn’t walk,

I said, ‘We’ll wait ‘til the gardener comes,

We’ll sit on the bench and talk.’

 

We sat for over an hour out there,

We sat discussing things,

Mother-of-pearl, the state of the world,

The cost of engagement rings.

But then a shadow had passed us by

Behind a hedge and a tree,

And out there popped the head of a man,

‘Are you two looking for me?’

 

He couldn’t have been but four foot two,

But hidden behind the trees,

His body never came into view

But he had two pointed ears.

I told him Sally had skinned her knees

And she couldn’t walk just then,

He said he’d send for his volunteers,

‘But beware the Pathways Men!’

 

An hour went by and the lights went out

We began to fear the dark,

Then three young misses in party dress

Danced up from the outside park.

‘We’ve come to carry your lady home,

Follow us if you may,’

Then plucked poor Sally out of my arms,

And danced down a strange pathway.

 

I don’t know why it escaped my eye,

It hadn’t been there before,

I tried to follow but found myself

Entangled, both foot and claw.

My path was blocked by three strange men

Linked up, to stand in my way,

‘Don’t think to enter the faery glen

Or your woman will waste away.’

 

I’ve searched the gardens, I’ve searched the grounds

I’ve searched in the nights and days,

I’ve called for Sally a hundred times

And lost myself in the maze.

But late at night there’s an eerie sound

Like someone playing a lute,

Down at the end of some strange pathway

Where they grow forbidden fruit.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

this reminded me of old fairy tales. They don't grow here that I know of but in Arkansas we used to see fairy rings and one of my favorite pictures is of a maid standing amidst one - enrapt by the little people - this poem is an elegant and spooky write along those same lines I savored as a child.

[R Smith]

guess i won't be going to that garden any night soon, so Sally won't be home soon, another of your fantastic stories David, keep em coming, i'm all ears (oops) no it was'ent me behind that bush haha

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A fantastical piece that leads one into areas unknown, well done, great read.

[Marie]

I'm guessing Sally got taken to another dimension where there are fairies and strange fruit... Perhaps that's what Fairyland really is, and we're just on the other side of it,,.

[Jennie Baron]

Yes, exactly what Momzilla says. Another brilliant and entertaining tale.

[MomzillaNC]

Another masterful composition with a delightfully wicked -- twisted even -- ending. Where do you come up with your bent little tales?