Author's Note: I wrote this at Niagara Falls (actually afterwards, since I was sick when we were there; how disappointing is that?). I remember that the waterfalls themselves were gorgeous (of course, the Canadian one was much better), but I was drawn by a single flower growing just beyond the barrier... and so, this poem was born swathed in mist with an arching rainbow overtop.

Niagara Flower

There is a lone and valiant rose
Clinging tenaciously to a stone.
He cannot see from whence she grows,
Yet she breathes a life much like his own.
From her stance, she would, he knows,
Be just as perfect in a vale
With dozens of her kindred - those
Growing safe and waxing pale.
But not a one regret she shows,
And flourishes so vividly
That he won't dare to so impose
Her spirit of tranquility.
The fairest of the flow'rs is she,
This solitary crimson rose.
Her beauty is so heavenly
Since on a precipice she grows.

Please review, danke...