The wishing well longed for the coin, the true one lone tossed high. Some just tricky to fall right through, whilst their lay behind one… prized by the imps… Alike the serene water gliding down the mount, there are plenty of souls open to countless readings… yet heap of others closing their space blocking our gaze. Their secret fills the air... deceiving you in a hundred thousand ways. As in no one knows the truth, the obviousness of the fake you. Have a look around, the life... the people... nothing equals the water, not even the drops that lie in the foothills. They wait along for the perfect time to hit, with bait so faultless to doubt. A face hard to find, or searched less behind the games played. It resides in you, me and all the spirits... behold, familiarize through the hymn of the wayfarer …for the stories he saw defines it better. The vagueness lie deep down, yet the silken lines smarten it. It’s hard to hold to myself now as even the smiles carry a tinge of pretense. The