Falling Angels Poem by Andy Brookes

The waters rise like steam, churned to a fine mist as it crashes into the Devils Throat.
here where the land slipped, sliced to cut the river now a drop, a fall,
its voice drowns all sound; rainbows play across its edge whilst birds dive into the water
to nests on thin ledges, hidden by your watery curtain.

small boats scurry across the river to carry tourists
who marvel, take photos of nature in grandeur.

what I remember is you covered in butterflies
emerging from the jungle edge like a laughing bright angel.