Groundwater

Our water comes from underground.

We lift it up to great renown

With callused hands that pump and make it fly.

 

The tumbling of its rushing sound

Reverberates throughout our town

And brings relief when mouths are running dry.

 

But as our growing streets abound

With life, we threaten soon to drown

The well’s capacity to get us by.

 

Our water comes from underground,

But every day we’re drawing down

The level that remains of our supply.

 

No other sources have we found

Untainted by a dirty brown.

We must preserve what droplets lie

Pristine within the spaces underground.

There are many environmental challenges facing the world - one that's closely related to the kind of work I do concerns diminishing groundwater supplies as populations grow and water demands increase. These supplies can be replenished, but the time scale is often much slower than the rate at which we pump water out of the ground. Of course, this can be an especially critical issue in places where water access is already relatively low, and people may need to resort to less pristine (and less safe) water sources to meet their needs. This poem imagines a growing town with a handpump that brings up groundwater, which I think is a fairly common scenario. As the town grows, the water levels decrease, and it becomes more and more important to figure out ways to preserve and replenish what remains.