The Spring at Mountain Man Lane

Oct. 1, 2018

Down the hill a grove stood thick, 
garden of oak and maple where flowed 
a rippling spring bubbling 
from beneath the earth
and running the base of the grandest maple 
my eyes had ever lain. 
I swear the daughters of Zeus did live there! 
Along the edge of an old mountain spring
birthing a marvelous rivulet-
waters of the Gods’ so pure! 
But a child, of course, I thought
through feeding tributary 
and on, my lovely rivulet, 
had gone to reach the ocean. 
But alas, I do not think so pure these days
knowing, just beyond the bend 
honest waters swallowed back 
beneath the earth
from whence they came
but do not disperse from there.
No, it bubbles to life again 
in the seventh circle of Hades 
in the sacred grove that stands there
much like my own, but tainted 
by the wickedness of those who lament 
aside the edge of its waters
where the fires do not burn
just as Dante said.
and my feted mind must know 
which sins may bring me here, for when Death
comes to take me home,
I’d rather suffer in familiar surroundings:
sitting in my wickedness aside the water, 
toes dipped.