my pail for poetry is empty
and the well is also deep; a rope
the rhyme and rhythm, for verse
too from my mind is missing!
for you, the well-spring of beauty
my thirst is curled deep inside
my heart, persevering within my soul
for an apt moment, relentlessly hissing!
let me then creep into your sentry
that lets into being change and new seasons
for fresh life, fruit gathering, and scattering
of colours, that fall for sleeping with freezing!
© henry victor 17.10.2015
