The old wooden bucket plunges deep into the well,
The weathered staves bound by rings once bronzed.
Dangling from the old frayed rope,
It sways with each turn of the tired crank.
Deeper still, wafts of staleness drift upward
Until the small splash echoes laggardly.
The rusty lever groans as it begins the ascent,
Tired and worn from a life of long hauls.
One last crank to reach the light,
The shaft hesitates, the rope wavers,
The weary bucket crashes down.
Héloïse is a dear friend who has been, thus far, reluctant to publish her very fine poetry. I am hoping by seeing her poem here that she will be convinced to start her own blog and publish more of her work.
To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Poem © 2014 by Héloïse Haven; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License..