MusingsPoetry

The Tap Which Never Stopped Running

On the first light of dawn, they’ve drawn.
All had exhausted their jerry can to the last drop.
The queue is already long before the rising of sun.
Only the early birds stayed after the first.

The waiting is lingering, eager for the gates of flood to fill their empty containers.
Salivating for the beautiful sound of the running water to feed their auditory.

Time for harvest beginning to pass by like a tick sounds of clock;
Brighter light beginning to shed more ray than when they left yesterday.
The weary look behold each faces.

Their thirsty throats had gone wild like a sojourn passing through the desert.
Hoping just to share from whatever comes from the fountain spring.

Behold, the tap is sicked,weak and weaned to labour.
Nobody spy since they only care for its fruits.
So, they left and quest for another running tap.

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