Monday, October 27, 2008

Poem for Saturday

The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface of the well of grief
turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe
will never know the source from which we
the secret water cold and clear, nor find in the
darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown away by those who wished for
something else

by David Whyte in his collection Close to Home

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