The GREAT VALLEY
  
On the road where you can't even see the light of mirrors
a man ill with his lungs leads a black horse by the bridle
 
The man walks towards the sunset
The horse attains him at every step
Beside them are passing other sick people:
they are going to the well
 
There is something as a rush in their clouded voice & a certain rush in the way they are barely holding to the bridle
 
They are all going to the well
 
The water is pure & flows before their birth 
so that nobody really knows when it really started 
 
Something meaningless happens there:
the water flows less & less.