The Account of an Ancient Wishing Well
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There plunks another silver wish,
Down into my depths with a swish,
Whispers of love and wealth catch my ears,
Tales of glory and murmurs of fears,
But none has caught my attention more,
Than a request to end a civil war,
A prisoner inside their own physique,
Told the waters (who could not speak),
Then left the thought to sink to the bottom,
Of which I pondered all through autumn,
We’re they disfigured, disabled or ill?
How was their life spinning downhill?
For I cannot fathom or comprehend,
Why a soul would need a twist or bend,
When all spirits are bound to be unique,
Shimmering with a colorful streak,
But who am I to share and tell?
For I am only a wishing well.