Poem: Falls of Clyde

This post is an update. A couple of years ago I wrote a poem about the Falls of Clyde. It wasn't as good as it could be. It still isn't. My poems usually need edited, and I've found this happens over the course of many years. Perhaps, as I get older, it will happen over many decades. Perhaps my teenage output won't be worth reading until I'm eighty. Having read some good poets recently, I realise how far my ditties fall short. The Merry Muse's best friend is good old Effort.

Deep breath: no water waits
flowing, insensate haste
rushing, to fate embrace
closer, the river waste
water, rough gathered power
white-brown at Cora tower
leaves fall as snowflakes swept
force, for her sisters wept
black ink deep foaming trails
down sweep white charger tails
Boom! to the thunder depths
roaring Clyde rumble death.

Boom, to the thunder depths
roaring Clyde rumble death.