Your well: cracked sand
beneath an uncaring sun?
Today: beneath a starry sky
a traveler stops to rest
and offers you a cup of tea
The last dregs from his canteen
Spilled on cracked sand
the tea is gone.
The traveler, on his way.
Tomorrow: if another traveler stops nearby
offer a cup of fresh water
from your empty well
Not too late: I see that I must give what I most need.
The last line of this poem is not mine. It is also the last line of the wonderful book, Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels.
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