The Well.

At the Well.

They push and shove

in the crowded corridor,

hormonal haste,

neglect, abuse or confusion

herding them noisily along

but behind the door,

beyond the tedium,

the bureaucratic requirements

of implementation, evaluation, categorisation,

lies the well,

bottomless,

magical,

beyond sweet,

and most of them pause,

open the door,

cautiously enter.

I can’t see a well.

Then let me dip this sponge

and bathe your blind eyes.

I can’t taste water.

Then let me squeeze sweet drops

onto your cracked, parched lips.

The water is beyond my reach.

Then let me help you

lower, fill and raise the pail.

Now freely drink,

deep and long.

Never stop.

I see water.

Then you are free to plunge straight in.

First published at Verse-Virtual.