The Well
A.W. Nutter
Able to see a round circle of light
The sun slowly ascending into the sky
Futile, spilling tears over my plight
As I struggle to survive I wonder why
As each morning comes I sign the cross
Clinging to hope with religious gestures
The sides of my tomb, slick with moss
Hands bloodied from repeated failures
Weakened from being in this hole so long
Chance of survival more illusion than reality
Leaving me to die in this well was wrong
Persecuted unjustly, for a wife's infidelity
Placing my back against the stone wall
Preparing myself for one final climb
Inch by agonizing inch I slowly crawl
Struggling to find handholds in the slime
Trying in vain to control my excitement
As I roll over the edge onto firm ground
Finally free of my watery confinement
When the Sheriff returns I won't be found
Slowly gaining enough strength to stand
Frozen in place at what my eye's now see
The husbands cruelty I'll never understand
Hanging his wife by her neck from a tree
Suddenly a rope tightens around my chest
Sheriff, ensures my hands are tightly laced
Screaming, I journey toward eternal rest
As into the well I am once again placed
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