Lines Trickling Down

How many times will you go to the well?
How many rhymes will it take to tell
your story?

The cool water of the well of the soul is deep
and poems are promises to keep
for you and me.

How many waves can we count in the sea?
How many leaves are blown from the tree
in the fall?

The billowing waves of the sea churn
and the leaves on the tree will return
after all.

Here poems start,
Cloistered in every heart.
Pour, drink.

by Sonny Rainshine

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