An open gate.
A waiting well.
The path is long, hard to cross.
But it’s worth it.
After the thorns and prickly brush,
the stone structure takes shape.
You’ll know if someone is there with you.
Clink, clink, splash.
Little coins ride down the well’s sides as horses,
carrying wishes on their backs.
You toss yours,
filling the copper coin with all the hope you can muster.
Willing it to come true,
wishing it to be.
Clink, clink, splash.
You’ve done all you can.
You fix your sweater,
straighten your hair.
You look once more to the murky depths,
your coin is lost.
It is one of many lost, forgotten dreams.
You are uncomforted,
upset,
as you return the way you came.
A waiting well,
an open gate.