Bed of RosesA Poem by David Lewis PagetIf life was a bed of roses, then My neighbour would fit the bill, He’d built him a twelve room mansion Next to me, on top of the hill, It made my cottage look down at heel Til I grew a hawthorn hedge, So nobody could look down on me Though he did, from up on a ledge.
His name was Jeremy Harmon, and His wife was Amanda Cale, I’d played with him in the schoolyard, though He’d won him a place at Yale, He’d spent his life in America Though he’d come back home to wed, And stole the only woman I loved From our own pre-bridal bed.
She’d fallen hard for his Ivy League And his Yves St. Laurent suits, His rented Aston Martin, and His R.M. Williams boots. He’d made a pile and he flaunted it Before heading back to the States, Taking Amanda Cale with him, I got her note too late.
‘I’m sorry John, and I know it’s wrong But he swept me off my feet, We’re going to live in Chicago, where He said that life’s a treat. We’ll live in a condominium And he promised me a maid, Oh don’t be sad, for I’m rather glad, Just think of the love we made.’
And that was the last I heard of them For almost twenty years, The name of Jeremy Harmon passed My lips, as a sort of curse, I just got on with my life, but brought No woman to my bed, My head was full of Amanda Cale And her betrayal, instead.
They turned up totally unexpected, Rang my front doorbell, ‘We’re going to be your neighbour, Hey! It’s good to see you, pal.’ He seemed to be totally unaware Of the grief he’d caused, back when, I held my tongue and I kept my peace, ‘Okay, I’ll see you then.’
A year went by and the house went up And I grew my hawthorn hedge, Amanda worked in the garden planting Seeds and lawn and sedge, I did my best to avoid her, though She tried to keep things light, But chuckled things like, ‘Remember when…’ And I’d say, ‘That’s not right!’
‘You made your bed when you left with him, There are no memories, I saw you last in his Aston Martin Waving through the trees.’ ‘That was a mistake, I know,’ she said, ‘But things could turn out right, He goes away on his business trips And I’m all alone at night.’
I’m sure I said that it wasn’t on, I’m sure I told her to go, But she was given to plots and schemes About things I didn’t know. She asked me once for a bag of lime To use on her roses bed, And like a fool, I gave her the tool To let her back in my bed.
Jeremy went on a business trip And didn’t come home at all, She said he’d gone to America, Their marriage had gone to the wall. She came to cry on my shoulder then Each day, for almost a year, And in the end, I had given in, She seemed in a deep despair.
Her garden then was magnificent For her roses were in bloom, ‘I’ve never seen such a great display,’ I said, one afternoon. ‘You can thank my husband, Jeremy, He’s been working, all this time, You’re tied to me for eternity For you supplied the lime!’
David Lewis Paget © 2014 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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