Well’s being

Like the old poet we had a well to look in
With a bucket lowered gently to touch its
Perturbed waters in their broken moons.
Midnight was fearsome with green snakes
Lurking in ghostly hibiscus trees standing.

A boy in knickers could not bend too low
For fear in belly, with no Narcissus -love.
Fear perked up like a piece of balcony sky
And crawled in half-pants to feet below.

The bucket fell to it with deep dull thud
As its rope had slithered down a pulley
Like a vague water snake searching frogs.
The waters came up to sprinkle moons
In tiny puddles on the stone saucer rim.


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