The well is dry,
My heart is empty,
The cycle is complete.
Nothing left to do but begin again and fill the well,
Stoke the fires of my soul, and
Let its smoke rise and season my heart.
My heart is well seasoned as this is not its first round.
Time and time again it has been smoked with sorrow.
So, it will either become soft and sweet from the fragrant wood chips
Or hard and tough from the endless heat.
The choice is mine, but am I strong enough to make the right choice?
Only time will tell…