The Choice

The Choice

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

The house had stood in the forest since

The passing of George the Third,

Ivy clung to the western wall,

The pillars were cracked and scarred,

The windows were bricked and boarded up

From the days of the window tax,

And the name FitzAdam was burnt in sin

In its myriad faults and cracks.

 

The oaks threw shadows in early morn,

The elms threw shadows at noon,

There wasn’t a single sunny wall

To be found ‘til the month of June,

And deep inside in the gloomy halls

Sat the last of the family tree,

Two aging spinsters, Jan and Jane,

And a dead man, that made three!

 

For Henry sat as he’d always sat

Since the day that he’d come to call,

To ask for the hand of Jan or Jane,

And arrange a Wedding Ball,

It was fifty years ago today

That he’d kept them in suspense,

For neither knew what their suitor knew

And the atmosphere was tense!

 

It was just a game to him, they thought,

He was going to have his fun,

He sat at the head of the table, and

He watched their features run,

The anxious looks of the elder girl,

The pleading lips of Jane,

He sat for an hour between them there

And refused to name a name!

 

The fire that glowed in the hearth went out,

Jane left to fetch some coal,

While Jan reached out for a sign from him

And felt that his hand was cold;

His eyes were blank as a morning mist,

His jaw had dropped to his chest,

‘What have you done - was I the one?’

Jane cried, in her distress!

 

But Henry, he was good and dead,

He’d reached his earthly span,

His heart had not proved big enough

To choose between Jane and Jan,

And so he sits with a secret smile

As his flesh returns to sand,

While Jan and Jane, they still complain

As they struggle to hold his hand!

 

David Lewis Paget


© 2012 David Lewis Paget



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Reviews

Twisted. Norman Bates mother in Psycho for some reason leapt to mind first. Maybe the gloomy house and the isolation drove the sisters mad before they ever faced the trial of Henry having to chose between them. Leaves one to wonder if there will be three decaying bodies in the sitting room. Will the sisters be trapped in their delusion until they too die waiting for their question to be resolved?

Posted 4 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This is fabulous. The quality of the write matches any similar writing I have read, bravo. Fun to read with a clear and themed story at the heart.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Interesting..!!

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

HaHo(Hello),
Awesome poem and really good of my friend Tate to send me a notice to read and expand my little mind, but with my massive heart I can understand.
Life and Light!

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

splendid!

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

The imagery in this is simply superb. You create this world which the reader can't help but be drawn into. Very haunting. Thank you for sharing! :)

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Eerily creepy! You have a magical way of telling a tale, David.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Some one that has a real art to tell a story through his poetry is David Lewis Paget . Dear Tate thanks for always sharing his work because it takes imaginations and art to a different level altogether!!

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Wow. I love this poem. Awesome feel that lingers.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I love this. It is both playful and tragic.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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1815 Views
48 Reviews
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Shelved in 6 Libraries
Added on June 15, 2012
Last Updated on June 15, 2012
Tags: spinsters, suitor, hearth, hand

Author

David Lewis Paget
David Lewis Paget

Moonta, South Australia, Australia



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