I am a bucket of terra firma

Made to be filled, Yet born full

Full of revolution and self-will

Tip me over everyday still


As container I want the shine

For the gold and water inside

“Look at me, Look at me!”

Whispers haughty vanity


Numerous sources to choose from:

Hose, shovel, hand, stream

I am slave of the breast I secure

Endless Fount, in this pot outpour


For each task an empty can needed

Yet highs and lows still cling

To my walls of insecurity

Endless Stream, flush me clean


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