The Spring in the Pantry

The pines were thickest where this water rose

And filled its mossy box, and found the pipe

That pulled it here—and pulls it—for our thirst. 

In so much shade the water was at home;

And when it reached our lips here in the cool

Unwindowed pantry, we were drinking from the earth—

Sucking the sweet center of it out. 

But that was years ago. They cut the pines,

And the hard sunlight entered like a sword.

The water kept on coming, yet I tasted 

Something a little different. It was fear

That soured it so—under a naked sky.