A line of pots
Of all hues,
Shapes and sizes
Snaked their way
Awaiting the arrival.
Owners stood, squatted,
Gossiping and grooming and grooming
The water pump hissed
Rudely spat around
Then condescended to a trickle
Sluggish owners stirred
Hands coaxed
The groaning pump
The croaking pump
The gurgling pump
Elixir gushed forth
Tempers on tenter-hooks
Battle lines drawn
For a potfull of water
Began everyday Kurukshetras.