The Treacle Well

A personal view from the bottom of depression's pit.

The Treacle Well

At bottom of the well there pools a thing,
Sweet, sticky with the viscosity of treacle –
The bottom of the well has treacle, yes,
If that’s what you’re wishing to find.
Of course, it could be any sticky stuff down there,
For sake of weary imagination
Let’s go with the sweetened stench of treacle.
And me, I’m stuck there –

      - at the bottom of the treacle well,
Glued safely in the syrup of sorrows.
Can’t see blue sky on a clear summer’s day,
No ladders, no steps, no sturdy bucket hoiking
Where the bright yellow sun lights and warms me.
Here are no smiles and no comforts,
Only the abysm and despair.
So, grant my fancy of a treacle well,
It’s in a story told by the dormouse
At the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party
– one of the adventures Alice had underground -
Brings to me a smile, a comfort where there are none.


D I Harrison
March 2014