Wishing At The Well Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Moon grows over the snakes
As I wonder what they are feeling: their bodies
Must feel the grass, each
Blade like a kiss, as they sojourn to the well,
And they wonder who their favorite maiden will be
Kissing this night,
As the bucket waits in the pale.
Maybe they will climb the apple trees and
Whisper to the apples too,
And linger there like ropes- and the curl,
As the children travel too lately home from
School,
And the guitar picks the throats of seashells-
It lingers over her,
As she makes love as she will- the waves not
So far away are a romance,
Kissing as they swell, but the snakes will feel
Every inch of her body,
As she lies wishing at the well.