There was a legend about the well in the garden,
Where the vines have grown past their heights,
And the flowers bloom all year round.
But this tale has not to do with nature,
But rather the tragedies that becomes it and its creations,
A fated pair of lovers would meet by this well for as long as could be remember,
It was said to bring luck and love to those who drank from the depths.
So years past, and the lovers could not seem to contain any happiness,
Greedy and eager, making more enemies than friends; too in love with themselves,
Until they fell down the brick hole, swallowed by the depth they once drank from.
A pair of sibling once drank from this well,
Their bond pushing them past the leaves and into the skies,
Yet their feet never seemed to leave the rocks and gravel below,
Until one brother climbed up over his other,
To mesmerized by the stars to watch as his other feel into the darken waters below.
I could tell you about the countless persons to drink from the waters of this well,
But none could tell you their downfall, eyes centered at the bottom of a ripple.
So I sit on top the well, fingers grazing the waters dripping from the bucket,
How could people be captured by the well and its serenity, and,
Not see the poison lingering from the vines and their deadly hold?