There was a rush of water
from the palisade
roiling through a trough
carved in the stone
it draped each cliff
with a curtain of cascade
as a tributary plunging
down upon it's own
falling nigh between each
shoulder of a steep
it washed the mossy
growth out on the crag
casting a hazy shadow
just above the sweep
of muddled swirls found
drifting in it's snag
a fertile bounty lay at the
foot before the straits
and fed the banks which
now were lush with green
easing down the narrow
where the world awaits
for the water from the falls
they've never seen
John R Tarter
J