Further down the wishing well
Than all the coins you tossed have fell,
Sit all the wishes in the world,
Bored witless waiting for their call.
And all about their ledge is hell,
A darkened, unlit, smothered cell,
Concealing something similar
To things portrayed in cinemas.
Its legions sound another cry,
As more coins tumble from the sky,
And wishers’ aspirations fall
Towards the centre of the world.
To fish upon the wishing well
Forewarns the creatures hot in hell,
No wonder no one gets their wish
Between the start and finish.