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Wednesday, 30 October 2019

The Moor’s Own Waterfall



The river, with unfettered flow,
Moved through tight conduits,
Creating foam born of fierce speed.
It splattered the ancient rocks
Vainly blocking the assault.
Above, the fall poured its waterload
To the roll of ten timpani.

The river was hushed, still,
Beyond the noisy fall.
It reflected, without effort, the sunrays
Shining through the clouds above.
Easy and warm,
A man laid down on earth's mattress,
To dream of the fall beyond.

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