The icy storm relented on that fateful morn’, That jocund day which hope was reborn, As the winter sun meekly broke the shrouded haze, I stood there watching the falls in a clouded daze.
Roaring and churning with a power sublime, My heart leaped as it had many years before, The water rushed, the sounds brought me back, To a gentler time of yore.
When hope sprang from the sweet summer pines, And the falls called to me like a spell, Beauty clung to the air and grew quickly like vines, I can see myself in the summer of life feeling so well.
Back then, a young man stood, The only Frost to be seen was in a small book, The warmth of life floating with the roaring mist into the wood, Then a loud crash, the breaking of ice, pulled me back with a hook.
I stood in the place but without the warmth on my face, The falls still churning, the mist still dancing and falling in place, In that beautiful moment of grace, I found that hope I once found in this place.