Aboard the Maid of the Mist, drenched from the spray,
Approaching Niagara Falls, I gaze in awe
At this wondrous sight of the renowned cataract,
Cascading fervently over the precipice
And violently crashing down upon the rocks
In a roiling boil is mesmerizing to see.
And behold! Out of the mist a rainbow appears,
Arching a span over the turbulent waters
From where thunderous roars are heard and eddies swirl
As if the heavens opened: “The Rapture is here!”
With angels descending to carry Christians home.
And I am small amongst giants (walking in the world
Defenceless against nature’s challenging forces),
Who will read “Insignificant” etched in my headstone.
Unlike those who think their works will last forever,
I’m like Niagara, trickling into the future.
Source: Dennis Spilchuk first published Niagara Falls on June 15, 2025, on the AllPoetry website. View other poems by Spilchuk here.
Many thanks to Glenn Bridenbaker for bringing this poem to the Niagara Falls Poetry Project‘s attention.