Yggdrasil
The poet sat in the garden house
Under a hawthorn tree,
And stared at the men in helmets who
Had just come up from the sea.
He gathered his words about him
Like a shield in the Land of Rhyme,
The 'glow in the red-raw evening sky'
He left for another time.
He watched as they burned his orchard,
Put his imagery to the sword,
Then wandered back to their surly ships
In the Bay of Bleak Discord.
The heron sat in the estuary,
The raven sat on the shore,
The poet threw up a stanza there
That ends with - 'Nevermore! '
For Death had called in the morning
Left his calling card on the tray:
'I'd be obliged if you'd meet with me
At noon, on Saturday! '
He packed his verse in a travelling case
And told his wife 'Goodbye! '
Then sent his 'Helen of Troy' poste haste
To hide on the Isle of Skye.
He went to the tree Yggdrasil, sat
And waited for Death to chat,
But Death left a message to follow him;
'I'll get my coat and hat! '
27 October 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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