Dwelling in arctic hibernation
there lies a mystic treasure
I never truly knew yet always dreamed of.
There lies a broken sapphire fountain
sleeping in caverns of snow.
Its glimmering faces remain secret, for
there is no sun to kindle its
eternal blue heart.
In primeval times, there was no
ice clad fortress for the fountain dwelled
amidst a forest glen.
Those who gazed upon it would hear
singing as their dreams unfurled
like dandelion plumes.
Then storms came and mountains erupted.
Amidst the turmoil, the fountain
cracked, and its water dried.
Within those caverns darkness
runs deeper than any cracks
which mar that riveting blue stone.
Dreams and songs persist only
as stories of whispers in my mind
during those twilight hours.
Someday, I will find the sapphire font.