I found a well once
In the dark heart of a wood
Where pigeons ruffled up into a skylight of branches
And disappeared.
The well was old, so mossed and broken
It was almost a part of the wood
Gone back to nature. Carefully, almost fearfully,
I looked down into its depths
And saw the lip of water shifting and tilting
Heard the music of dripping stones.
I stretched down, cupped a deep handful
Out of the Winter darkness of its world
And drank. That water tasted of moss, of secrets,
Of ancient meetings, of laughter,
Of dark stone, of crystal -
It reached the roots of my being
Assuaged a whole Summer of thirst.
I have been wandering for that water ever since.
Kenneth Steven
