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. 


This poem is in the public domain.