The silly well
I was a child once.
I did silly things and laughed a lot.
Things were fun and fanciful.
I was a child once
with no concern
for grown up things.
I just loved to giggle.
In days past
I drew buckets
from the silly well.
The silly well once flowed
with jabberwocky words,
raucous laughter,
and ceaseless joy.
Like the fields
sprouting with tender shoots
after the monsoons,
the silly well
overflowed with love
when I sang out of tune,
when nonsense was the orchestra.
The draught of decades
has left me parched.
The well of silliness is dry.
I no longer see fairies dancing on daffodils.
I no longer hear orchestras in the forest.
I no longer imagine magic carpets
carrying me to Camelot.
How sad
the spring that fed the silly well
has found another channel.
How sad
it no longer gurgles with giggles.
No longer bubbles with unreasonable bliss.
No longer charms the child within.
I miss the silly well
blessed with the silly spell
that made life lighter.
Made hardship livable.
Made strangers, friends.
Made mountains into molehills.
Made tedium into adventure.
I miss the silly well.
You see –
To go to the silly well
you must take a friend.
I cannot go
to the silly well
alone.
