In the well you sat for days-
I only found you, while skipping-
Tripping over moss covered rocks
by the stream that seldom ran dry.
Sadly for you- unlucky you.
The stream sat bare- from the sky.
I’d imagine, dry skin. Twisting turning
Meanders, of dry land.
The water table low, with no flow
You sat stuck for days- Alone.
Lucky for you- weirdly for me-
I heard yells- south of the dry stream.
carefully cranking, bucket and rope-
Down the well- closer to you.
Three yanks, and I pulled up-
A bucket, and heart appeared from the rough.