Memories. Poem by ray summer

I came to the old well
remembering the childhood hell,
id look down the deep abyss,
those stories granddad always told,
monsters and ghost like to dwell,
in the deep and dark of the well,
he would drop a stone eyes shut,
breath held until the splash,
then just as soon be on his way,
i picked my stone and held it tight
closed my eyes and held my breath,
i jumped, eyes shut until the splash,
so many shiny round stones waiting
for me there on grandads knee.