Behind the Hedge

The rambling house was all run down,

Well, what you could even see of it,

It sat in extensive, weedy grounds

And a hawthorn hedge surrounded it.

The windows hadn’t been cleaned for years

The door was weathered, and boarded in,

They said that a hermit lived in there

Well hidden away from a world of sin.

 

And Sally was more than curious

Each time that we wandered by that way,

‘How could he live so close to us

And never be seen,’ she’d often say.

‘He must be lonely, or maybe mad,

I’d love to wander the rooms in there,’

But I said nothing, I thought it sad

And bad that Sally could even care.

 

‘I heard that he had a woman once

Before, when the house was nice and neat,

She worked in the garden there for months

And the house was visible from the street.

But that was before the hedgerow grew

And something happened, she went inside,

And never came out, not that I knew,

The rumours spread that the woman died.’

 

The weeks went by, she became obsessed,

‘What if she’s been imprisoned there?

Didn’t they ask, or go and check?’

‘Nobody knew, or even cared!

It happened so many years ago

And the garden overgrew with weeds,

Nobody wanted to even know,

Or interfere with a stranger’s deeds.’

 

Sally would stand by the broken gate

And peer on in at the jungle there,

‘Whatever you think, it’s far too late,

They’ll think you’re mad if you stand and stare.’

‘Somebody has to show they care,

I’m going into that house one night,

I want to know if she’s still in there

And so should you, if your head is right.’

 

I said I wouldn’t become involved,

So she went off on her crazy scheme,

Into the dark she sauntered forth

While I was asleep, and lost in dream.

She wasn’t there when I woke at dawn,

I searched the house and I went outside,

Took in the rambling house’s form

Then knew she’d gone, and I almost died.

 

I battled my way in through the weeds

And got to the house, the door ajar,

I called out, ‘Sally, just come on out,

I need you back, wherever you are.’

The house lay still as an ancient tomb,

The air was chill and the rooms were bare,

The dust was thick in the morning gloom

For nobody had been living there.

 

And Sally sat on a tiny mound

Out back, and near the wooded copse,

The grave I’d dug, with a stone surround

And covered with blue forget-me-nots.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ I shook my head,

‘What’s done was done, and it can’t be changed,

She left for a share of my brother’s bed,

I would that it could be rearranged.’

 

But Sally sat with an empty stare

And I knew that I’d lost her then for good,

She didn’t know of that other mound

That my brother made in that tiny wood.

‘So this is the end of love that’s lost,’

She said, with the merest wave of her hand,

‘I’ll leave you alone to count the cost,’

Then leapt to her feet, and turned, and ran.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[MomzillaNC]

Jealousy and rage count up a never ending spiraling cost. The count begins with the lives and loves of him and his brother and their paramour, and the hope and happiness of him and of Sally. And, secrets will always find their way into the light of day. Quite a morality tale you’ve spun, David.

[Valentine]

I would hope that as many fish as there are in the sea, not one would be worth killing or dying over. Jealousy can be our own worst enemy. Valentine

[Willard Wells]

Sad, vivid and beautiful. It held to the end. Thank you for sharing this work..

[Vishuddha]

I have never been able to understand the emotion of jealousy perhaps because I don't believe anyone owns anyone else. This is the essence of freedom. But, I am certain that it is overwhelming when it strikes as you illustrate beautifully in this tragic piece.