A curtain drawn on day's decline,
The waterfall, a silvered light,
A constant roar, a timeless chime.
Its ceaseless plunge, a humbling sight,
A question posed to rock and pine,
Does purpose lie in endless might,
Or in the stillness to entwine?
The churning foam, a fleeting fight,
Against the rocks, a battle line,
Does nature seek with all her might,
An answer in the ceaseless brine?
Yet, from the spray, a rainbow bright,
A promise whispered, soft, divine,
That beauty born from endless night,
May hold the key to life's design.
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