Return of the WandererA Poem by David Lewis PagetThere’s a time at night when the moon is full And the breakers pound the beach, The world is dark and asleep, the gull Lies nesting at the breach, It’s then that the stirrings from the depths Reach out, like a dead man’s hand, And shortly, out of the rivulets There are footprints on the sand.
They come ashore and they stand awhile And they point, this way and that, Considering well which way to go As the waves erase their tracks, Then a breeze picks up and it parts the grass In a line up from the shore, And the shape of feet on a farmer’s stile Are left, till they dry once more.
While up on the rise, a cottage sits With a single faint night-light, Its simple beam like a beacon streams Through the tar-black pitch of night, While deep inside in a cosy room Sleeps a girl called Carolyn, Who tosses fretfully in the gloom As she dreams the words, ‘Come in!’
The footsteps up from the field below Stand still at the old front door, The lock is rusty, the hinges swing For an inch, or maybe more, The wind is moaning and soughing now And the door is soon ajar, As the footsteps enter that sacred place Under the evening star.
And Carolyn lies and moans aloud As his death invades her sleep, Since ever the depths had formed his shroud All she had done was weep, The footprints stood, facing her bed For an age it seemed, they kept A silent vigil, there by her head When she woke, the sheets were wet.
David Lewis Paget © 2015 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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