Poetry

The Thirsty Traveller

Once, I heard the trickle of a long forgotten stream

As I strolled along taking in the syrup of the noonday sun’s gleam.

My throat was dry, and so I stopped

To take a sip with cupped hands,

Realising too late that I’d been caught in black quicksand.

 

What fool was I

To have ventured without a careful glance?

Had I thought I was fair of fortune enough

To gamble with chance?

 

Some might now expect me to say I was saved

But sadly I must inform you that for me, a different end was paved.

Though my body soon disappeared underground

I now hover above the water

Guarding forever against any fools willing to clown around.