Toastage: For Once, Then, Frost

Dear Mister Frost, I find myself

In need of that deep well,

At whose own curb you once would kneel

To see what it would tell.

But having once at well-curbs knelt

And found to my chagrin,

I had to look so far beneath

The well-curb bruised my chin,

Thus, though in summer heaven, I

so godlike did appear,

I did not have the chin to be

What you might call, a seer.

But now, dear Frost, I'm back again

To see what I can find:

A pebble, or a piece of quartz,

Or something of that kind.

I seek the wisdom of the well

Who once gave something back.

A well, as far as I can tell,

Who never yet did lack.

Beyond the surface, dear, old Frost

I seek to counsel deep,

Yet all I've see are rippling jests,

That lulled me off to sleep.

Now in this hour of great distress

Beneath the shimmer dwell

The answers to my golden quest -

Oh, please entreat that well!

For truly, Frost, I know you saw

For once, then, something there,

So let no drop nor puff of cloud

Impede what you can share.

The shining water, all too clear,

Reflects back only me.

And though I try to see beyond,

I'm all that I can see.

______________________________

Toastage