The well, so pure, in village square,

Sustains the life of indigenous there;

And all respect that they must share;

Or all will wisp in thirst.

Each vessel filled is blessed in peace,

As cool is raised from underneath;

To quench the parched in faith’s belief;

Lest commune will be burst.

All who flourish here do know

This well enables all they sow;

And without, nothing shall grow;

Nor harvest banquet’s feast.

For many years such hope did bring,

Surrounded, kept inside this spring;

As sacred as such golden ring,

That binds the bold and meek.

Then upon one arid day,

A Stranger finds himself this way,

Asserting wants and lusts defrays,

From depths of life so clear.

He belches, grunts such guttural sounds;

While spilling lives upon the ground;

Celebrating wealth that he had found;

While challenging his claim.

Assembled villagers, in awe, do stand;

Such words of rights can’t comprehend;

Or find such means to then defend,

Their well, from one un-named.

He then removes, from ‘pon his back,

His soiled clothes, in soiled sack,

Launders ‘til the liquid’s black;

And laughs that he’s so clever.

He bathes himself in view of crowds;

His laughter full and crackling loud;

Such property he’s now endowed;

In bliss with his endeavor.

Once he deems himself content;

And feeling rather affluent;

He packed his bags, arose, then went;

While village day was fading.

Then each patron of this quiet town,

Encircled the pool of life from ground;

Each took a taste without a sound;

Of spirit now so tainted.