Go to sleep my darling
And let me wander through the night,
Looking for the answers,
Looking for what is right.

Allow me to stumble
Upon your dreams both dark and bright,
Then leave me on my own,
To wander through the night.

I have seen what is wrong,
As it changed me in your eyes,
I have seen all too clearly,
The sweet and bitter prize.

So when you awake
From your travels both far and near,
Call me, my darling,
Overcome your fear.

The fear of failing
To understand the black and the white,
The fear of looking,
And finding what is right.

Go to sleep my darling.
Fear not, I know now what is right.
It is you, my love,
You, you are my light.

I feel comfort in the familiarity
Of being lost
Peculiar in its irony
Its definition reversed by my falling in love
With the freedom of not being found
Sometimes it's more peaceful
Living quietly without the sound
Of homesickness in your ear
Eyes wistfully on the clouds
Thoughts pondering in head
Soft promises vowed
To a place not seen again
It feels to me like exciting exploration
Sights locked in mind
All these complex illustrations
Of trees, streams, crumbling walls
That otherwise would of went unseen
All these beautiful kingdoms
Adorned by the falling leaves
Of this year's autumn
How could I not fall for that?

I struggle to make sense of it
but the only reason I can see
is that I was there to give you strength
that helped you to set you free

You left a life of comfort
but with no spirit and no soul
for a life with many challenges
perhaps to make you whole

But first one thing then another
made our future hard to see
and after one too many battles
you walked away from me

So tell me whats the lesson here?
What am I learn from this?
That I'm destined to come second?
That I'll never top the list?

Because trust me I know heartbreak,
I've learned that one many times.
But I thought this time was different,
thought I'd read between the lines.

Now all I feel is guilty,
that our crossing paths just made yours worse,
to me you were a blessing.
Was I to you a curse?

The uncomfortable smile
that you wear on your face
Your self confessed klutzness
and perceived lack of grace

The things that you say
and the things that you do
are just some of the things
I like about you

Like the stillest of waters
you run so deep
and the words that you share
are the treasures I'll keep

You're honest and modest
and fragile yet strong
and yet so uncertain
of where you belong

Let go of your past
leave your baggage behind
and trust in your heart
and just see what you find

You may be surprised
at how good things can be
If you let yourself go
let yourself become free

He had got on the train at New Street,
Found an empty carriage spare,
And settled down with the paper
With not one to disturb him there,
But the train pulled in at Sandwell
And the carriage door slid wide,
And in there walked a pair of heels
With a dimple and hips beside.

She sat on the seat across from him
And laid her bag on the seat,
Kicked her shoes on the floor, so he
Could see her pretty feet,
He tried to look at his paper but
The print got up and walked,
Up from her ankles to her calfs
And he found it hard to talk.

‘How do you do,’ was banal but
That’s all that came to mind,
She briefly looked from her knitting, and
He thought that her eyes were kind,
But never a word would pass those lips
She had the slightest pout,
And her needles clicked to the railway clack
As his mouth was drying out.

He’d bought some fruit in the Bullring
So he thought he’d have some there,
And at different times he offered her
An apple, peach or a pear,
But she shook her head so slightly and
Politely, in disdain,
As if the thought of a stranger’s fruit
From a man in a suit, might stain.

The train chuffed on through Wolverhampton
While he drank a Coke,
He knew that his time was limited
For she’d get off at Stoke,
He offered to put the window down
But she said it blew her hair,
Then he offered his name as Paul, but she
Was not inclined to share.

She crossed her legs and she hitched her skirt
Just slightly above her knees,
While his eyes looked up to the luggage rack,
Was this some sort of tease?
Her knitting needles were clicking away
Was she knitting some sort of sack?
It seemed like she was racing the train
Ahead of its clickety-clack.

The train went racing to Stafford,
In and out, but it passed so fast,
He said, ‘We’re almost at Stoke, that’s where
We’ll both get out, I guess?
There’s quite a nice little café
Down by the station in the square,
I’d like to buy you a coffee, if you want
I’ll shout you there.’

She stopped, and packed up her knitting
Tucked it carefully in her bag,
And said, ‘You must be Australian,
And coming here, so sad.
I’ve never been ‘shouted’ a drink before
But I think you’re rather nice,
I’ll let you know that you’re past first base
On your way to Paradise!’

David Lewis Paget