The SelflingA Poem by David Lewis PagetI saw her first in the lighting flash That lit her up in the storm, The rain was beating on down to slash Her more than shapely form, She’d just emerged from a woodland copse Was soaked as she could be, So came to shelter beneath the Mighty Oak, along with me. Her hair was more than bedraggled, but As black as a phantom crow, Her clothes were old and ragged, but They clung to her figure so, I asked her what had possessed her then To wander out in the rain, She looked at me and began to pout, ‘I could well ask you the same.’ I said I wasn’t prepared for it, It came down out of the blue, Just as the sun went underground And dark, so what about you? She said that she only ventured out When the daylight was eclipsed, In wind and storm she was newly born On an evening such as this. But then she sighed and I saw her eyes Weren’t blue or green, but black, Her lips an unearthly red, like blood, No lipstick looked like that. She said, ‘they call me The Selfling, for I offer myself for free, I give whatever you want, but then I take what I want for me.’ She lay down under that mighty tree And pulled me down on top, Onto a pile of Autumn leaves, And said, ‘now don’t you stop.’ I must confess that I did no less Than The Selfling said to do, As she took me into that wilderness There was pain and pleasure too. Her teeth bit into my helpless wrist As we rolled there in the mud, I felt my essence begin to ebb As she took a pint of blood. When I awoke I was on my own Though I caught a final glimpse, Of her, in a flash of lightning, though I’ve never seen her since. David Lewis Paget
© 2017 David Lewis Paget
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Added on December 10, 2017Last Updated on December 10, 2017 Author
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