Aqua Clara

More poetry from Mike O'Neil aka Boreegard

Agua Clara

Find a piece of water on this earth,
That man has not abused,
And I will give you a gold sovereign.

The metal of the coin was,
Bullied, wrenched, dug, 
Mucked, hydrolicked, or panned, 
Out of some sweet waterway which,
Pray God, may now be recovering.

If you take a long delicious drink of water,
From your favorite stream,
As your father’s father did,
Call 911—immediately,
Because it’s not just H-two-oh you’ve ingested. 

Nothing is unlimited anymore, Huck Honey.
Nothing.


                        Boreegard