The little girl was sent for water,
To fetch some from the village well.
Skipping away on dusty, dry roads,
The jug she carried in her hand.
The summer sun—burning like fire—
Prolonged the never-ending drought,
As fields of golden corn desired
The missing rain, the stormy clouds.
Joyful arrived the little girl, then,
Looking around for signs of life:
Driven away by reigning heatwaves,
All others sought shadow, not light.
As thirsty crickets ceased their chirping,
The little girl rejoiced in peace.
She gazed into the well—so quiet—
And then began to sing her wish.
“I’m wishing,” sang she as she smiled,
“I’m wishing,” came the echo back,
And all the birds that heard her singing
Came closer, chirping with delight.
And so came she each day, excited
To make her wish and to rejoice
In all the magic which the village,
The air, the nature offered her.
The cool, deep well kept all her secrets,
Singing them back only to her.
The sun governed deserted dirt roads—
Her wishes belonged to the well.
– Patricia
Da Capo al Poetry 