Alunagh's Well

Winter rain, falling like thousands of unnamed sorrows, like a million un-given kisses, a thousand lost wishes. How I long for the end of the winter rains, the remembrance of all my soulful refrains. Once I recall there was a time when gentle hearts the world did rule, when equal voice was given to the king and the fool. Alas that time is long forgotten, a myth as dusted by time as is reason and rhyme, or tales of centaurs and goddess’ divine. How I do wish for the end of the winter rains, the end of these dreary days.

Were I a goddess of any measure, I’d bring forth again the world’s brightest treasure. I’d draw from Alunagh’s well, all that is fair, not a wit that is fell. Grace the world with joys unnamed, with beauty seen through fresh eyes again. I’d take from humanity all the jaded mediocrity and draw forth from myself all my soul’s gentle wealth, to bestow upon the crying planet, aye, I’d give my heart with it.

Alas, I am but a goddess of meager means, a power not great enough to change the world, a watcher whose fingers but dip into the pool, I have not the power to give a voice to the fool. I draw from the water what bitterness I can but I cannot cleanse the mind of man. Would that I my essence could share, like a philter drawn from Alunagh’s well, a drink all fairness, and no fell.

Meager goddess that I am, I may draw rainbows across the surface of the pool, I may draw a whisper from king as well as fool, but alas I have not the strength to make recompense for all that has gone before, for all that was lost in hate and war. Perhaps one day I’ll show to thee the way that leads to Alunagh’s well and there ye shall meet a minor goddess who once, a long time ago, fell.