In Winter's Thrall

Where is the waterfall I knew
carved by bitter winds that blew
cascading icy winters flow
now stemmed but beautiful and new.

In summer, long before the snow
drought would make the water low
and busy dipper turned her stone
releasing larva to it's foe.

With watersplash she held her own
to chisel through the mosses grown
a crystal chandelier of lights
each prism perfectly in tone.

Now she waits through darkest nights
But still her beauty brings delights
sparkling caught by winter's sun
as if some fire within ignites,

Spring's broken shackles has begun
the melting torrent that will run,
bursts the banks and start anew
the cataract her patience done.

Poetry Survivor
Second Round
Rubaiyat Quatrain