Return of the Wanderer

Return of the Wanderer

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

There’s a time at night when the moon is full

And the breakers pound the beach,

The world is dark and asleep, the gull

Lies nesting at the breach,

It’s then that the stirrings from the depths

Reach out, like a dead man’s hand,

And shortly, out of the rivulets

There are footprints on the sand.

 

They come ashore and they stand awhile

And they point, this way and that,

Considering well which way to go

As the waves erase their tracks,

Then a breeze picks up and it parts the grass

In a line up from the shore,

And the shape of feet on a farmer’s stile

Are left, till they dry once more.

 

While up on the rise, a cottage sits

With a single faint night-light,

Its simple beam like a beacon streams

Through the tar-black pitch of night,

While deep inside in a cosy room

Sleeps a girl called Carolyn,

Who tosses fretfully in the gloom

As she dreams the words, ‘Come in!’

 

The footsteps up from the field below

Stand still at the old front door,

The lock is rusty, the hinges swing

For an inch, or maybe more,

The wind is moaning and soughing now

And the door is soon ajar,

As the footsteps enter that sacred place

Under the evening star.

 

And Carolyn lies and moans aloud

As his death invades her sleep,

Since ever the depths had formed his shroud

All she had done was weep,

The footprints stood, facing her bed

For an age it seemed, they kept

A silent vigil, there by her head

When she woke, the sheets were wet.

 

David Lewis Paget


© 2015 David Lewis Paget



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Featured Review

After leaving here to take a walk on the stuffy side of authorsden and the feigned professionalism of folks who are only published because they paid to secure attention for themselves, it is such a refreshing and wonderful thing to read your moving, touching, and compelling poetry once more ...

This piece is beautifully penned, while tragically sad in its message of a lover who return home from sea no more ...

It brings a tear to my eyes, not just that this piece is sad but, that you have received 1695 views, to date, on this great poem and only 29 people took the time to tell you they appreciated all your fine effort ... It truly is discouraging times for writers of any genre in this video go fast, got no time but for Facebook and Twitter age in which we live ...

My proverbial hat is off to you!

Marv

Posted 8 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Hauntingly beautiful. For me this is a man returning home - yes in dead form but desperate for his place and love. Can't help feeling that when the day dries those sheets, there'll be a feeling of trust in the afterlife. ' Even death cannot part us, 'cept only the forgetfulness of the living spirit. ' (Don' know who said or wrote that)

For me, this poem centres on the faded one, not the sleeping woman ..

'Then a breeze picks up and it parts the grass -- In a line up from the shore, -- And the shape of feet on a farmer’s stile -- Are left, till they dry once more. '

As always you capture place, time and person in super-fine metre and sensitivity. Thank you for being in the Cafe, mr. Paget.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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Mac
This is haunting. I love the imagery and the emotion behind it. Your tales are captivating and I look forward to reading more of your writing.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Sad piece and yet peaceful to know that he still watches over her.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

The tale you tell, in words that rhyme, call memories to mind. Yearnings for the wanderer,flood eyes that cast you blind. Details you knew, may twist askew, fired loins that lose their burn. Footprints that fade, sunshine, moonshade, all waiting His return.....Thanks for the memories, D.L.P, Barbz

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Welcome back wanderer. This write is great, as I got to the ending it gave me the chills and made me think of Lee. As widows often dream that they are there when they are not. The tears on the bed tore me up. Guess this one goes into my favorites . Oh yes, -34 degrees this morning. BRRR Kathie

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Stats

2239 Views
35 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 5 Libraries
Added on February 20, 2015
Last Updated on February 20, 2015
Tags: footsteps, ashore, shroud, sleep

Author

David Lewis Paget
David Lewis Paget

Moonta, South Australia, Australia



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