The Hill of Holy Water

Here is a written poem about Jack and Jill. For nursery rhyme enthusists, it should seem familiar.

Jack was a prince,
but now a king,
whose father simply was unfit
to do continue ruling.

This was becuase the man was ill --
so terribly ill:
his life would be nihil,
without expediant aid.

So he told to the king Jack
(this was his son in fact)
that a cure he should seek
at the highest and meanest and purest of peaks.
Its appellate was simply 'Hill.'

There a stream would be found
from which holy water abounds,
and this alone, poured in the wound,
would prove a worthy cure for the cruel buffoon
(for so the wound was christened.)

Jack told his wife --
this was Jill,
who was the queen,
of his father, stricken ill.
He told her of his intentions to climb the Hill.

But Jill refused his offer for leave,
without her too, you must now see.
She feared for the life of her husband,
so youthful and prudent and intelligent.

With reluctance it was indeed,
that Jack did ever so much as concede,
to undertake the quest to find,
the Holy Water cleverly confined,
at the source of the stream of Hill.

And so Jack, armed with a pail and crown,
his face set in a staunt frown,
and Jill by his side,
ready to abide,
set off to climb the great Hill of olde.

They approached the base,
and looked upon the face,
of the great Hill mountain they would climb;
and within them fear was struck,
for it would take some carefully placed time.

As thier eyes rolled about the mountain
never did the peak greet them,
but Jill found a stream,
with which they would climb, even.

Up they went, to the right of the stream,
past boulders and rocks, and salamanders and things;
the air grew ever thinner,
and the atmosphere colder,
but the stream, nearing the holy water with each step,
even purer.

Some rocks hopped about,
greeting them with a shout,
whilst others snored very loudly;
one boulder did belch such a one,
that the air grew quite cloudy.

The hillside was alive, and friendly it seemed,
all but the terrain, which was rugged and mean, and would not falter.
But still Jack and Jill,
went up the hill,
to fetch their pail of water.

The peak now in sight,
the duo mustered thier might,
and hastened their step,
nearing the end of thier quest.

At the peak Jack nealt down,
looking into the purest of pure waters,
and lowered his bucket,
but his foot slipped into the stream.

The current pushed him down,
the bucket remaining,
Jill nearly fainting,
and found at the bottom,
with a crash into water,
that he was near death,
and broken was his crown.

Jill pilfered a bucketful of holy water
and nearly tumbled downthe mountainside of Hill,
in fear for her husband Jack,
whose soul might rest at the base of the rock.

She reached Jack,
after a time had past,
breathless and panting considerably,
and poured in his departing mouth,
a single serving of the holy liquid.

He awoke with a start,
life in him no longer stark,
and the two happily returned to the castle,
in which the king of old was stricken ill.

And they gave him a drink,
and saw him blink,
and all lived so happily
ever after.