Poetry

The Magic Wishing Well

By: Lynn Dowless

Once upon a time in the valley of Blessed Nell
by mountain side overhang, there stood a water well.
I was young,
there was so much to see,
so sit down and listen to this story one must hear to believe.

The hillside fairy nymphs were good
when one’s adoration for the surroundings were understood;
so their alluring magic was found in that well,
so deep inside this enchanting valley of Blessed Nell.

There was a miner’s daughter named Angel Em’,
she was more lovely than a string of fresh bass hanging on an oak limb.
My eyes were soon fixed,
my young heart was spooning heavy,
for this mesmerizing angel who drove a 1926 Superior Chevy.

She was wild
and so was I,
this silent ghost of river basin and the forest blanketed hill side.
She kept food on the table
when her Pap was no longer able;
this beautiful pixie who lived in an A framed cabin by the wishing well,
so deep in the West Virginia valley of Blessed Nell.

I soon adored her so passionately,
but she knew me not;
so I listened closely to the ageless tales of the local elders,
praying to the Puck King Fairy at the wishing well;
kissing silver coins, wishing hard, and tossing them in,
while longing that a binding love with that darling, Angel, might soon commence.

The movement of true love took quite a long while,
between me and this immaculate miner’s child.
When love finally came it burned so scorching hot,
lo the magic of the hillside fairies had finally proven their lot;
in this valley of Blessed Nell,
near the mountain overhang by the wishing well.

With such intense passion we both were soon overcame,
yet when my phantom now gazes backward there is nobody to blame.
Her father hated all out-landers and wouldn’t allow her gentle hand to go,
as he roared and screamed by his pot bellied stove.
One dark and dreary day both me and his dear Angel bid fare thee well,
then we rode the bucket down to the bottom of that water pit in Blessed Nell.

We ne’er meant to make him so disappointed,
we ne’er meant to make him cry,
our two ghosts now long to explain our reasons why;
but for all eternity we both are forever bound
to the bottom of this bewitching water pit a hundred feet down;
so deep in the West Virginia valley of Blessed Nell,
by the old A framed cabin at the water well.

Categories: Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.