A fountain stood amidst an oak tree grove, His crystal water flowed ever clear Like mother nature’s treasure trove, Providing birds and flowers cheer. Atop a hill, away form prying eyes A green and grassy forest’s spot An unseen haven, heaven under blue skies A place of glee, never too cold nor hot. During the summertime came birds Who form the fountains water drank And showered him with tweets, like words Of compliment, like songs of thanks. When frosty winter came a knocking, The fountain threatened by discomfort The oak tree branches did the blocking Of snow, and in their roots he found his comfort. Thus ages passed, years and centuries One season went the other came again Yet always stood the fountain by his trees To the day of the coming of the Men. They found his grove, all armored after a battle lost The fountain quenched their thirst, He was their most benevolent host Not knowing he would be forever cursed. Henceforth they frequented him often The fountain enjoyed their visitations They sang him ballads that could soften The hardest rock, or heart throughout the nations. But enemy came, the fountain saw the slaughter He saw his friends the warriors die He felt warm blood mix in his water He saw it all, and he began to cry His tears like water flowing, gushing Form the bowels of nature’s soul And to the surface they came rushing From the fountain more water now roll. The stronger that his tears flew, The livelier the grove became More flowers form his stream then grew More birds to his pool then came. More years had passed, just like before The groves dear secret was revealed And men start coming more and more Tools of destruction they did wield. Man with an axe cut down every oak He plowed through every bush and flower So fiercely man the nature does invoke, He took the fountains greenery with power. Instead of grass he had now pavement, If not for pigeons he’d be all alone, And to stand still in such enslavement Man gave him a body cut of marble stone The fountain kept on weeping still He cried, more water came a flow A wound in his soul that could not heal Produced such strong a water flow. The fountain then became sick with grief And even stronger was now his fear He cried out more with disbelief As his once crystal waters were no longer clear He cried for days and nights without an end No longer cheerful was our fountain At night he dreamed about his once green land Of trees and birds and hills and mountains Then one spring day, a Skylark came And sat upon the fountains marble head, ‘Oh lovely bird, be kind tell me thy name And state your point of goal’ he said. ‘I am the Skylark, and form the south I way I come on search to find a place of myth A grove there is, I heard some birds did say, Of eternal spring, ‘tis there I fly forthwith’ The fountain then spoke in reply: ‘Such fabled grove indeed used to exist But you waste time if there you wish to fly For on that once proud fountain you now sit’ ‘This cannot be’ the bird at him laughed out ‘You’re but a lump of manmade stone I think A ghastly shape of marble, with a rusty sprout Your air’s unclean and water are unfit to drink’ The bird flew off and with her Hope. The fountain had endured his final shame With nothing more he could not cope And no pain could him now maim… Right then the fountain stopped and cried no more Alas the cheerful fountain has gone dry His marble vessel stood there empty, dusty, sore For no more tears he had in him to cry.