The well refills at a trickling flow,
Though steady and sure it's painfully slow.
When allowed to recharge and refill complete,
It's waters are cold and clear and sweet.
It refreshes and wets the dustiest thirst,
To hydrate and quench from last to first.

But draw out too often in quantities great,
The recharging waters will flow in too late.
And grasping for more sirs up silt and mud,
Which makes the dark water thicker than blood.
Losing its power to refresh and cool,
Nothing remains but a fetid dark pool.