Springtime in an Old House
What started as a trickle
seeping from an unnoticed crack,
when winter snows were warming
and rain-soaked skies were coming,
found a flow-line in my basement,
towards a sump-pump, often fickle,
in a corner towards the back.
A fountain-pool of tinkling droplets
quietly collected as I slept.
Soon spring gathered volume and velocity;
by night, its sources gained variety.
Now in my boots and with my broom,
and frantic tinkering with the float,
I’m sweeping water from a moat.
April 17 , 1996 (Revised 4/02/12)