James Frederick William Rowe
The melt waters of a March snow
Pouring from the scaffold
Gush a sprinkled
Stream of tricklings
In a staccato sheet
Plunging to the gathered puddles
Which resound with the concentric circles
Of the silence of their song
The music of the days old storm
Poet’s Notes: Between 23rd and 24th on Lexington Avenue, there is currently one-storey scaffolding around the George Washington hotel. One Monday, I was walking along there when I witnessed the striking sight of melting ice producing the eponymous "Urban Waterfall" dripping from the scaffold. The Wednesday prior to this, a snowstorm had dumped a substantial amount of ice and sleet onto the city, and this snow must've remained rather undisturbed until then, as it was gushing a copious amount of water down a few dozen different trickles. It really seemed like a melting waterfall, and I was captivated enough to write a poem about my experience as soon as I returned home that night.
Though simple and direct, I am pleased with the aesthetics of the poem that I believe capture as well as possible the experience of seeing this sight. I believe I may have been the only one who recognized in the waterfall the beauty that was present as I saw no one else pay any mind to it whatsoever when I was walking. As I was the lone preserver of the value of that moment, I felt especially inspired to write this poem and I think I've done justice to it. In effect, I've recorded the "the music of the days old storm".