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Poem

The gated wall they stood before 
No timber seemed  awake to them; 
no splinter stirred amidst the wood, 
the nails now rusty in their beds, 
where once brave Knights had deftly trod 
on mounted horses,  
all bejewelled. 
True Knights  and Barons who heralded The Cause.  
That narrowest of narrow paths,  
Where only the Truest traveller knows 
The healing waters for his love sick heart 
Lay hidden deep within the Well,  
and who would ever know its source?
For in disguise it lay vast and deep, 
covered in thickets where Lion’s prowl 
Only the footsore brave seek its song 
The song of  sweetest melody 
and in every chord a different balm; 
to heal, to bind, to nourish and to love 
but so faint on the wind is the song - 
you would ne’er hear it - even if you strained;
wooed by the sound of The Maker,  
and only seen by the eyes of the heart,
echoing in fathomless depths. 
The beauteous sound of the waters brings healing to his love sick  heart,
and trusses of red blossoms spring forth 
And with a sweet pure melodic fragrance,  
it bursts into a myriad of colours,  
Leading him in a dance, singing the sweet sweet melody, 
and as he sings, 
the waters of the Well gush forth 
and he within the waters is reborn.

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