Isle of the DeadA Poem by David Lewis PagetHe’d lain off the island just a week, It was really only a reef, That thrust up out of the waters Ninety miles from Tenerife. It didn’t show up on a local map And he thought he’d heard it said, ‘Be sure, if you think of sailing west That you miss the Isle of the Dead.’
On the higher part was a grove of trees He explored when he went ashore, And hidden deep in the foliage was A house, not seen before. It was made of wood, and covered in vines That acted as camouflage, It couldn’t be seen ‘til you came up close, And stood with the door ajar.
He thought it must be deserted, though A garden was weeded out, And then, as he had approached the door He was pulled up short, by a shout. ‘Who’s this, who enters my private grounds, Who’s this, who plays with my head? We never have visitors here, you know, For this is the Isle of the Dead!’
He turned, was facing a sprightly girl With a mass of auburn hair, She wore a costume of paw paw leaves That had made him stand and stare, Her eyes reflected the brightest blue Of the ocean, out in the bay, And her mouth affected the slightest pout As he wondered what to say.
A woman came through the cottage door And she said, ‘Come in, Narreen, We never talk to the strangers, for You don’t know where they’ve been.’ Her manner was quite unfriendly as She gestured to the shore, ‘You’d better be making way, my friend,’ Then shut the makeshift door.
He slept on his vessel every night But he came ashore at dawn, Hoping to get the briefest sight Of the girl, for his heart was torn. He hesitated to call it love But it grew, each time he saw, Her figure appear from the grove of trees, Or saunter along the shore.
She finally came to talk to him And squatted to hear him tell, Tales of the wondrous world out there Of jewels and gold as well, Her eyes grew brighter with every tale And he said, ‘You should come with me, We’ll sail on the balmy Autumn swell And you’ll see the world for free.’
Her sister came to the beach one day And she took the girl back home, ‘I think that it’s time you sailed away, We haven’t the need to roam.’ But he came ashore the following day And he lured the girl to his boat, She seemed surprised at the size of it And the fact that it could float.
He tried to sooth, as he raised the sail ‘We’ll just go out for a spin,’ But she was suddenly nervous, and She asked that they go back in. He thought that he’d made the girl his own As they sailed from the bay, at last, But then he noticed the withered crone Who clung, in death, to the mast!
David Lewis Paget © 2014 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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