Dried Up

My thirst cannot be quenched

as I tip the canteen and wait

for a drop, perhaps the last,

that can not and will not satiate.

The well has run bone dry

and it seems there is no hope;

a drought is upon me and

my barren mind goes down slope.

The thought had occurred

that eventually the cup

would run out rather than over

and leave me, all dried up.

© Autumn Siders 2016

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