Wellspring without End

By Val C. Wilcox

Now from my well I fill yet one more pail,

Pretending I am wellspring without end.

Within I wither as my source drains dry

From sprinkling lives of those I love. I try

To water needful friends and never fail

To irrigate up to backyard fence rail.

But garden spot expands until I tend

Whole fields with my few drops and even lend

My nearly empty pitcher. Crops are small;

They thirst—I simply cannot do it all!

Wrung dry, I search for peace through weary prayer

In grateful confidence that God is there.

How good to feel the healing waters roll

And rise to seep again into my soul.