THE WELL

Today she ran out of ink
Her well had dried up
Her hand lay limp at her side
Just like the brain in her head
Who was going to fill her well?
Her gaze hit the floor

Her dreams lay on the floor
Pictures not drawn in ink
Her life had not gone well
How could those dreams rise up?
What could she do with her head
Put everything aside?

She had nothing left inside
But plenty on the floor
Looking up at her head
Thirsty for some ink
Didn’t the devil do well?
How could the fragments get up?

Something told her she had to buck up
Lift her hand up from her side
Take a drink from the well
Picking things up from the floor
Riding on the fountain’s head
Ready to write in ink

Things have to be written ink
In letters that stand up
Words not just from the head
But from the heart that beats inside
Refreshed by the drink from the well
Rising up from the floor

Now there is nothing on the floor
Not even spilled ink
Magical was the well
Lifting her spirits up
Now she’s back on the right side
Everything’s right in her head

The fountain’s head gives life to the ink
That once was on the floor looking up
At the hand lying limp at her side unaware of the well

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