The Account of an Ancient Wishing Well

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There plunks another silver wish,

Down into my depths with a swish,

Whispers of love and wealth catch my ears,

Tales of glory and murmurs of fears,

But none has caught my attention more,

Than a request to end a civil war,

A prisoner inside their own physique,

Told the waters (who could not speak),

Then left the thought to sink to the bottom,

Of which I pondered all through autumn,

We’re they disfigured, disabled or ill?

How was their life spinning downhill?

For I cannot fathom or comprehend,

Why a soul would need a twist or bend,

When all spirits are bound to be unique,

Shimmering with a colorful streak,

But who am I to share and tell?

For I am only a wishing well.