I Dreamt I Was a Faucet


I dreamt I was a faucet
precious wisdom flowing throughout

anyone thirsty for guidance
need only twist my handles
for me to spout.

Located in an overgrown garden
of a once palatial country home

a weeping willow still sways gently
as butterflies to flowers happily roam

settling for a moment
trespassers weary sneak a seat
on a porch weathered badly

though the wonderful roof…
it didn’t leak.

The swing creaks
lacking lubrication

yet soothing
the rhythmic squeak

reminding passersby of a childhood
filled of lemonade
and clouds fluffy

and children squealing
in joy of hide-and-seek.

A stone circular bench surrounds the fountain
cracked by shifts in time.

Hollyhock’s stubborn beauty
longed for past couples
gazing lovingly

or little girls batting red balls
on springy lines.

Yes, the fountain’s faucet was rusty,

but if thirsty
does one not think

that eventually the water could still trickle
enough sweetness for a drink?


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