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PostPosted: Fri Jun 20, 2008 9:17 pm
by Saturn

In barren times, in bone-dry days,
My fountain ran dry, basin caulked
With excrescence, a thin patina,
Superfluous crud of lichened excess.

For all the wasted effort and the
Cups overrun, riverbanks broken
Didn't even make a watermark,
But seeped back to its low bed.

Now I've sunk a deep line and
A wellspring burgeons inside.
I feel the warm swell surging
Lapping with promise, overflow.