every morning, they drew from the well,
assuming there would always be plenty

they did not fully understand 
where the water came from

nor did they bother to look
for another source

they were not good stewards,
thinking there would always be enough

nor did they care for the well itself,
to shore up its walls

one morning, there was 
nothing to draw

panic solved nothing,
nor did wishful thinking

they now hated the well,
forgetting the years of plenty

they knew how to draw water,
but not how to adapt

though the water pointed the way–
accepting changes in the earth,

changes in the sun,
the rain, the snow

so the water would endure,
no longer revealed to them