Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 340

A Waterfall’s Voice

The rain falls down on the world, gentle and soft.
Water drips down the pines, slowly, from aloft.
After such prolonged showers your voice grows fierce.
You shout; flow increased, emotions stirred, sounds pierce.

How can a roar be so relaxing; bring calm?
An elemental force; a soul healing balm.
Your path erodes, carves away both rock and stone,
while your ceaseless cadence cries aloud…alone.

Even from afar, your murmur can be heard.
Blending with the songs of all the woodland bird.
Even your whisper can command true respect.
For your resonance and being, still interject.

Such is the way of the primal waterfall.
It draws a person in with its mighty call.
For who can ignore a voice that drowns out all?
With a presence to match; nature’s fluid wall. 

Kieron Baird

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