In the feathergrass steppe <br />Sources lie buried, <br />The thirsty sun knows <br />Life isn't raspberries. <br /> <br />In barren haymeadows <br />A child tarries, <br />Walnut crosier <br />Outstretched, gold-eyed, <br />The bracing treasure, <br />Slender, streams. <br /> <br />They bubble deep, <br />Both song and splashes, - <br />In the live coppice <br />An April peal. <br /> <br />More wondrous than God's lightning bolts, <br />The artesian well fills <br />The sham spays' dry dugs <br />With love's hypogean milk.<br /><br />Mikhail Alekseevich Kuzmin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/artesian-well/
