The Portent

We lived right up on a grassy bluff

That looked down on the sea,

In a tiny cottage, fit for two,

Just Arabelle and me.

But Arabelle was a wistful wraith

Insubstantial in the flesh,

She hovered around in her ghostlike way

With an air of faint distress.

The surrounding air was turbulent

For it always seemed to blow,

Over the top of the bluff from depths

Down in the cove below,

But Arabelle was restless in

Even the faintest breeze,

Worse when the wind came surging up

And swaying the tops of trees.

‘Why do you let it get to you,

Why are you so forlorn?’

Often I’d say, as Arabelle

Would sit hunched up, at dawn.

‘I can detect a spirit there

That tumbles from out my breath,

That’s where the wind is coming from,

It’s a portent of death.’

Then she’d begin to gasp for air

As if she couldn’t breathe,

I’d say, ‘there’s plenty of air out there,

It rattles around the eaves,’

I’d take her hand and I’d lead her out

Walking along the bluff,

While she took many a gulp of air

Until she had had enough.

She died quite early one Sunday when

The wind had clattered outside,

I found her slumped on the grassy bluff

From watching the rising tide,

But now, there’s only a gentle breeze

Since I’ve been living alone,

I only hear the clattering gale

When visiting her headstone.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[T.S. Sky]

Sad tale. You're stories never fail to entertain.

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing tale . Nice ending to the poetry. Thank you David for sharing the outstanding tale.
Coyote

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Beautifully and tragically written.

[Pragati Chaudhary]

Lovely and imaginative :)

[drew garner]

i can imagine this being illustrated by Edward Gorey. great piece of writing.