The Fountain's Grace

There was a fountain, pure and clean,
Filled with fresh spring rain.
The water was clear and sweet,
Free of fear and pain.
 
My face was sore and dirty,
caked with grime and mud.
My hands were torn and aching too,
smeared with drying blood.
 
I wandered to the fountain,
And yearned at the sight.
My lips were parched and hands were dirty,
Yet it couldn’t be right
 
To dirty this pure fountain;
Whose waters were so sweet.
I couldn’t ruin its perfect flow,
Its cool joy I couldn’t mistreat.
 
And as I gazed most longing there,
The fountain roused its tide.
In a voice of musical joy,
It called me to its side.
 
“You may wash in my waters,
You with heart so dear.
Just pass along the gift to others,
So they will not fear.
 
“Bring my waters to hurting hearts,
To those who’ve lost their way.
My waters will cleanse and heal
All who go astray.”
 
And so into the water
I plunged my grimey hands.
And as the waters washed away
The mud and the sand,
 
They became so dirty,
And clouded, filled with strife.
Through its sacrifice of grace,
The water lost its life.
 
So now I bring this gift to others,
And tell this tale of grace.
How the water gave its life
To cleanse my filthy face.