The water-tower loomed
over the tiny town of Broken Springs;
I was lost in amazement,
bewildered by the absence of absinthe-laced wings
like the scent of honeysuckle sent from heaven.
Big-city debasement faded from eleven long years
and a lifetime of tears
entombed ‘neath the shiny reflection
of distant reflections of happier times, or so I thought,
of childhood rhymes my innocence wrought.
Who knew I’d crave that insouciant icon
over the tiny town of Broken Springs…