The waterfall

Carved between two forests
scented with pine and peat,
crystal cold water rushes
across a mountain shelf
over 200 ft deep.

Splashing,

tangling

in tremendous motion
roaring like the raging tide
over flint grey rock it tumbles
thundering downward
running wild

spraying

sparkling

silver

out into the air.
Filling it
full of misty mornings
smelling of pine damp grass.
Leaving a lingering
taste of
iced spring pearls
served in rock crystal glass.

poem by Diana Rosser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!