Thirst (an acrostic poem)

Too many times he had gone back to the pump

He was doing it again even now

It wasn’t going to change anything.  The water wouldn’t be there

Reaching for the ancient handle, he pumped it up and down vigorously

Staring at the dusty spout, begging for a hint of liquid to form at its edge

They found him there two weeks later still searching for a drink

 

Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bf/An_old_Hand_Pump_at_Yeleswaram.jpg