A frothing well burst forth from soul.
chrystalic waters overflow.
Its source is one I do not know;
and since the start, it has not slow’n.

A secret seam in stony ground
must hydrate lively roaring fount’!
But are the stores infinite bount’;
to gurg and gush and not run out?

The living water; sound and sheer,
replenishes all good things near.
The weaker spots, and those impure,
are cleansed with unrelenting cure.

While I observe, a haunting thought
slates ice from joy, leaves tendons taut.
To choke and drown and then to rot,
is danger I have not forgot.