sump

there is a hole in the ground
behind a house somewhere
its sides purposed and formed
I know not for what
the edges of its low walls
testify of intention past
jagged crowns missing something

into the shallow depths I gaze
a pond of rainwater hosts
decaying leaves and scum
small pinkeens dart around
the only life still moving

did once it please the eye
was it a well or fountain
made with loving hands
the center of this garden?

naught but a shadow remains
gathering dregs of days gone
and glory long forsaken