Do you know Gainey’s Well?
I know you’ve probably heard of it,
You can obviously google it,
But that’s not knowing it, is it?
It’s only knowing of it.
It lies at the end of a street with a rec,
Through a seeming suburban garden,
(That is in fact a secret pathway)
Where surprises, incongruities, improbabilities,
And the most fantastical impossibilities,
Reside both outside and inside
Of what appears to be a normal garden shed,
(Or marooned saloon family car garage)
Brick walls, tiled roof, lock and bolt on the door.
Outside this anonymously average structure,
Air vents rise up from an underground reservoir;
Inside, a roaring welter in the darkness,
Serpentine subterranean tunnels,
Pulsing water, limestone walls,
A limitless liquid mine,
Fed from Cotswold gravel beds of 800 acres,
More Stroud’s River Styx than aquifer,
A vault of torrential force in the abyssal depths.
Beneath the pavements the beach?
Beneath the lawn the abyss.