Listen to that waterfall. It ripples along that old stone wall. <br />A sound that can spell bind all those who hear. <br />It’s a noise that will never be associated with fear <br />That rippling sound conjures up mental views <br />Of deep forests, steep hills and worn walking shoes <br />Where did that water first come from d’you think? <br />From a cloud, and ocean, perhaps even a sink! <br />And as sun beats upon it, it turns into gas <br />Rises up in the sky, makes a cloud, that’s a fact <br />Those clouds are then blown all over the world <br />Until meeting a hill causes billows and swirls <br />The temperature falls so that gas becomes ice <br />It gets heavy and drops like fat grains of rice <br />And as they get closer to ground level, see <br />The ice becomes raindrops, that fall heavily <br />They’re soaked by the ground through which water’s cleaned <br />‘Till it finds a rock layer within which it’s deemed <br />Water can’t pass, so it puddles on top <br />Forms underground lakes and streams for the crops <br />Eventually they flow out of hillsides as springs <br />Gathering momentum from slopes, which then rings <br />Out that tinkling, rippling sound <br />That a waterfall makes as it passes o’er ground.<br /><br />Frank Ian Bowen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/waterfalls-10/
