Sticks & StonesA Poem by David Lewis PagetShe said she’d made a collection up Of certain sticks and stones, To cast a spell in a paper cup That drank, would break his bones, She followed him to the mountain top And down to the pebbled beach, But every time she got close enough She found he was out of reach. He’d seen her sat at her cottage hearth, He’d watched her casting her spells, He knew that something quite dreadful was Heading his way as well, She’d not been over forgiving when He’d been well caught in a lie, And watched the remains of repulsive spells As they came stumbling by. He got in the way of avoiding her, He wouldn’t respond to her call, That’s when she made her potion up, No-one would have him at all! She had a draught that would bring him down If ever it passed his lips, She cast her spell from the deepest well And it only took two sips.’ He turned his collar across his face You could only see his eyes, Then swept on up with his cloak in place When she slept, as the moon would rise, He seized the potion sat on the hearth And he poured it down her throat, And heard the crackle of breaking bones As she screamed, one long, high note. She lies awake in the cottage gloom But she can’t quite make a fist, Her spells that lie in the darkened room Are beyond her shattered wrist, While he will sit, and read them aloud Though he never will see her smile, For every spell is part of the shroud He will torch in a little while. David Lewis Paget
© 2016 David Lewis PagetReviews
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