The sun scorched sweat, soul searing hot.
Heavy heat of no surrender, dried every cup.
To quench thickened thirst, quickened my mind.
With bucket broken, needed water to find.
Arrived at Jacob's well, though not alone.
Saw man sitting there, secure on soft stone.
He asked for drink, to my dying chagrin.
Just then it was, a gentle breeze blew in.
So time seemed to speed, to steady stop.
He without bucket, for any well water drop.
“Ask not of me,” I felt need to plead.
“Water from me,” countered he, “perishes each need."
He knew not of me, yet spoke truths that be.
“I am the Water,” he offered, for bucket broken me.
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