Water falls as the hair and voices
Of nymphs at La Cascada.
Removing my shirt and glasses,
I place my eyes and nose
Through the surface of the pool
To be bathed by hands of water,
Falls like silver tinsel
Or ribbons of moonshine
And moss-maiden hair
Perpetually combed
By the white fingers of
La Cascada.
Her touch upon troubled features
Is like a lover smoothing covers,
Leaving pearls upon your eyelashes
for the morning.
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