The well has not gone dry,
less frequented maybe
by both the drawers and
the occasional passersby.
The stones are loose;
between them, mortar dissolves-
by clement or contrary
weather on seasonal cue.
The vessel is parched
and longs for its lover
by pulley once lowered
its rope frayed with disuse.
Frederick Kesner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-cup-runneth-over/
