Woman of Stone

I saw her first by the apple tree

Where she picked the ripe red fruit,

Her auburn hair in a twisted coil

And a crinoline to suit,

I saw her eyes as she turned to me

Two azure pools, afloat;

But they didn’t hazard a glance at me,

Not even a single glance at me,

She didn’t venture a glance at me

As my song died in my throat!

 

I lost control of my heart that day

I could neither eat nor drink,

Though I felt my substance fade away

I was too confused to think,

And a fever took me, by and by,

I took to my bed, a week,

But she never came to visit me,

Not even a thought to visit me,

I’d have given the earth to visit me

While my spirit lay so bleak!

 

She had a million suitors then

And she turned them all away,

They said that the grass was dry and sere

In the meadow, where she lay,

She made it known she was quite content

In life, to be left alone,

She hadn’t the need for men, she said,

Not even one special man, she said,

‘I’d rather be left for dead,’ she said;

They called her: ‘Woman of Stone!’

 

She taunted and teased, quite merciless,

She treated men with contempt,

She’d flutter her painted eyelashes

In the Halls of the Regiment,

And many an Officer fell for her

In his red and his golden braid,

‘I never did like a uniform,

Too bad, you’re wearing a uniform!’

She’d turn her back on a uniform

And she’d smile as she walked away.

 

They said she’d been left at the altar

When she was barely seventeen,

She’d chosen a young subaltern, who

Renewed his vows to the Queen,

His regiment marched away that day

To the fields at Waterloo,

He carried his musket high with pride

Then tramped in mud through the countryside,

His blood was scattered both far and wide

When the battle was finally through!

 

I started attending the balls where she

Was teasing and taunting still,

I never was much of a dancer, but

I can foot a mean quadrille;

I tried my best to ignore her there,

Danced gaily round with a friend,

Whenever we’d meet, I’d turn away,

Look anywhere else, but not betray

The hints in her eyes or her body’s sway,

And I’d leave before the end!

 

The number of balls was endless when

The soldiers came marching home,

They feted the Duke of Wellington

For beating the Frenchies own;

And still I tried to avoid her there

This Caroline Ainslie Stack,

She’d follow me round the ballroom then,

A dancing card and a thrust out pen

But I wouldn’t sign, again and again,

Her eyes turned slowly black.

 

She caught me up in the village street,

She backed me against a wall,

Then said: ‘It’s not a man but a mouse

Won’t dance with me at the ball!’

I shrugged and murmured, and took my leave

She followed me all the way home;

I tried to remember the things I said

That night, it rattles on through my head,

I found her lying across my bed

Without a stitch of her own!

 

We married, back in the spring this year,

Caroline’s starting to show,

She holds my arm on the way to church

And she greets with a warm ‘Hello!’

I’ve never told how I fell in love,

How she cut me, clear to the bone,

But on evenings here, as warm as this

I can taste of my woman’s magic kiss,

And she tells me: ‘Dear, we live in bliss!’

She does - my Woman of Stone!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[cynthiabuhainbaello]

Wow- what a love story! I marvel at your excellent skills and language expertise in narrative poetry and they are a treasure to read. Each piece you have written so far have been short stories written brilliantly on poetic form - which takes time and diligence to do! Thanks for sharing your marvelous work here for us to read and enjoy!

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

Hi David- I wanted to read this one again. I like it so so much... More pleasant the second read.. roarkew is right!

Chloe

[Chris]

Weaving heart within a historical flow... you did break the tenor after the uniform and on to the end... but by then the story was drawn and fleshed.

The remaining brought a smile BECAUSE it wasn't just form anymore...

I enjoyed the listening...thank you.

[Lena M. P.]

What a curious twist. I'm not used to you giving us happy endings. I can say I was truly surprised. I liked the rhythm to the ends of each stanza. That added nearly a musical touch.

[Reaper]

Excellent poem. Strong words that are wonderfully expressed.

[patricia]

The three rhyming lines near the end of stanza were brilliant, i was smiling all the way through, you captured the art of this strange human behaviour so well, and it is so true...Thanks David...another great write.

[Mark]

Turned the old playing-hard-to-get routine right on it's/her ear, eh? Good on ye, mate! BTW, does your wife know about Caroline...?

[SR Urie]

Atta' boy, Dave. Love is strange. BZ

[roarke]

Strange the courses of wooing....

I marel at your ability to mix earthy and beguile into an ageless tale.

in each stanza, it starts out rhythmically rolling and then just before the end slow, contemplate, even pause then finish with a gavel bang. A very intriguing pattern, great for spoken performance and dramatic/reflective effect. Nice touch.

... some stones take longer to warm than others.....