Birdsong

There lives a poet beyond the trees

But all that he writes is pain,

He spends his evenings down on his knees

Regretting the way he came,

He thinks of the path he should have trod

And the path that he really took,

Then writes regrets in a verse to God

And places them all in a book.

 

A single book on an altar there

That nobody else will see,

He won’t let anyone read his verse

For, ‘That’s between God, and me!’

But he reads and writes them over again

And his tears will stain his cheek,

‘They’re only the faults of mortal men,’

He thinks, but they make him weep.

 

He weeps for the loss of an innocence

That he barely remembers now,

It seems so long since his world went wrong

Yet he cannot imagine how.

He tried so hard to be godly then

But the good in his deeds went sour,

And hurt so many he knew back when,

He lies in his bed, to cower.

 

His heart had leapt on the wings of love

It brought him a purer truth,

He thought she came from the lord above

But all that she had was youth,

And time and fortune had withered that

As the tone in her voice went harsh,

It went from roses and sweet perfume

To the croak you hear in the marsh.

 

Would nothing pleasant inspire his verse,

Would nothing brighten his day?

He’d sit and chew on his feather quill

And search for something to say.

There must be more to a life than this

For others were doing well,

While he would brood on the sadder bits,

Imagining life as hell.

 

A girl went wandering though the trees

Carolling loud and clear,

It brought the poet up from his knees

And straining so he could hear,

She sang the song of a trilling bird

And the poet’s eyes were bright,

His heart leapt higher the more he heard

And he took her home that night.

 

His verses now hold the sweet refrain

Of a birdsong, light and free,

He wields his quill with an inner thrill,

‘How could this happen to me?’

The book of pain on the altar’s stained

With neglect, and barely a nod,

‘I’ll take this life with my darling wife

And I’ll leave the rest to God!’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Barbz]

The Poet, dwelling on, and lamenting the pains of his youth, not only affected his ability to embrace joy in his pen, but possibly withered the tone in in his lovers voice. Thus imagining life as Hell.....Along came the lovely, with her positive attitude and her birdsong, which brightened the Poet's eyes. His quill embraces a life ,new! it's all in the Attitude, a bad one can destroy a relationship, a business, A church, a home, a life...but the saving grace is that WE are in charge of Our attitude........thank you for this write, DLP...

[minisla]

Excellent top notch. Intriguing from start to finish.

[little thoughts]

Very well written..good job mate!

[andrew mitchell]

One of your best, moving poems David. Just magic, this one, that reaches out!

[A Soap Mess Stories]

If only we all could "leave it up to God." Well written story David.

[Valentine]

Good write, not Gothic and with a happy outcome. Nice way to start my day. Valentine

[R Smith]

excellent ending David, so good to have more happiness, especially for someone like the character here :)

[Tomás Ó C..]

A happy ending? Are you OK??? ;-) Love it as usual!!!

[Lady Lola]

Another twist, but this time for the good! I hope their happiness will last -- although I sense a pattern there (short-lived happiness through someone else). But I'd like to think, that she is the one to teach him about the joy in little things.

[Marie]

Poets who write of gloom and doom and sadness make little headway. Much better to write of birdsong and leave God's business to God.