THE WELL OF GRIEF
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,
the still surface on the well of grief,
turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,
to the place we cannot breathe,
will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.
The Well of Grief
River Flow
New & Selected Poems
Many Rivers Press © David Whyte
River Flow
New & Selected Poems
Many Rivers Press © David Whyte
Photo: © David Whyte 2012: Easedale Tarn, Far Easedale, Cumbria.
MEmorial DAy, 2014
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