Whats your take on this...

[Drabella]

Water, Water
Every Where,
But not a drop to drink.

In the Ocean,
In the Air,
Even in your Sink.

I have always sang this poem each time i think of water and I use to just sing the the fisrt part but i started putting in the second part. It has always fassinated me.

What does this poem mean to you?

[Oniya]

The first stanza is actually part of Samuel Coleridge's 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner,' a story of a man condemned to wander - I believe endlessly - after killing an albatross and thereby bringing death to his shipmates as a result of a curse.  (The albatross is considered a bird of good omen to sailors, and killing one is generally a Bad Idea^TM.)  The bit that everyone knows comes when the Mariner is floating alone in the wreckage of the boat on the ocean, parched with thirst while surrounded by the undrinkable ocean.

Water, water, everywhere
And all the boards did shrink.
Water, water, everywhere
And nary a drop to drink.

It brings to mind utter hopelessness, when the seeming salvation that is just within reach is actually the last thing in the world that you really need.  In a sleep-dep sort of way, it shares that imagery with Richard Cory:

WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,   
  We people on the pavement looked at him:   
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,   
  Clean favored, and imperially slim.   
 
And he was always quietly arrayed,          
  And he was always human when he talked;   
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,   
  "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.   
 
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,   
  And admirably schooled in every grace:    
In fine, we thought that he was everything   
  To make us wish that we were in his place.   
 
So on we worked, and waited for the light,   
  And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;   
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,    
  Went home and put a bullet through his head.

[Inkidu]

If you like Richard Corey then this one should also appeal they're often presented together.

Miniver Cheevy



Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,

Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;

He wept that he was ever born,

And he had reasons.



Miniver loved the days of old

When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;

The vision of a warrior bold

Would set him dancing.



Miniver sighed for what was not,

And dreamed, and rested from his labors;

He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,

And Priam's neighbors.



Minever mourned the ripe renown

That made so many a name so fragrant;

He mourned Romance, now on the town,

And Art, a vagrant.



Minever loved the Medici,

Albeit he had never seen one;

He would have sinned incessantly

Could he have been one.



Miniver cursed the commonplace

And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;

He missed the mediæval grace

Of iron clothing.



Miniver scorned the gold he sought,

But sore annoyed was he without it;

Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,

And thought about it.



Miniver Cheevy, born too late,

Scratched his head and kept on thinking;

Miniver coughed, and called it fate,

And kept on drinking.



E.A. Robinson