I came to the fountain for water,
but I ended up waiting for gold.
You came by, in time, with some
others, to rescue me from the mess
I'd made. I had no words, was just
thankful. Whatever may have been
flowing, eventually, we collected.
In a large silver pail. Everyone looked
down. It was neither the water nor
the gold we were after. It sufficed,
and we lived that moment - now,
so long since, here, where I sit, again
there's a moon at my window, just
one day past full and primed for
the loom of whatever my thoughts
can weave of it. Another story?
Another tale? Maybe I'll find
out what was in that pail.