Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
At the edge of my grandfather's farm there is a well of stone,
Where the moss grows thick and the water is dark and cold as bone.
As a child I would shout my name into the echoing deep,
And the well would shout it back to me, and I would laugh and leap.
But one evening when I whispered, hello, is anyone there?
The well replied in a voice not mine, and it whispered, I'm still here.
It asked me for a story, and it asked me for a name,
And it asked me for a promise that I'd visit, and I came.
So every year I visit and I tell it what I've seen,
And it knows my every secret, and where my paths have been.
Last spring I asked it, who are you? and the answer came so slow,
I am the one who fell, and I will wait for you below.
Poet of Chilling Shivers · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
A well has always been a place of echoes and secrets. In this poem, a childhood game of shouting into the well turns into a friendship with something that has been waiting a very long time.
At the edge of the grandfather’s farm is “a well of stone” with water “dark and cold as bone.” As a child the speaker would “shout my name into the echoing deep” and laugh at the echo. One evening, the speaker whispers, “hello, is anyone there?” and the well answers “in a voice not mine.”
The well asks for “a story,” “a name” and “a promise that I’d visit.” Every year the speaker visits and tells it everything. Last spring, asked who it is, the well replies, “I am the one who fell, and I will wait for you below.”