A Patch Of Wilderness
The promise of fantasy is the fruit-laden trees
And the cool crystal pool of Tantalus.
With insatiable hunger
One reaches out to the sweet outgrowth;
With unquenchable thirst
One stoops down for a refreshing drink.
And each time, as firmly ordained
By some strange and ancient law,
The branches suddenly wither;
The pool immediately recedes.
And what had been for a moment
A lush piece of landscape
Is now a barren patch of wilderness - a wasteland.