(22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

Late Of Days

What have you left me
Late of Days?
There’s never a smile
For my words of praise,
And not a look
Or a sigh is spent
To point the way
That the wonder went;
Where is the way
Of the ancient ways –
What have you left me
Late of Days?

What have you left me;
Tardy nights
And grim repairs
To the look-alikes,
A heart that’s troubled
And torn, and spent –
Which was the way
Your wishing went?
Why these thoughts
Of your witching ways –
What have you left me
Late of Days?

25 October 1979

by David Lewis Paget

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