Is this Niagara's face

Her love does fall,
With all freedom,
She sends her call.

To create such amazing displays
Of honor and trust always.
Her groans of displacement
Sent on there way,
never with the sounds of dismay.

Tears of honesty garnish my face,
As early morning dew laden with grace,
Splattered across the peddles
of a premature bloom,
Glistening through out the room.

Her continues crying filters the air.
So fresh and so clean,
Like gentlemen of old,
so debonair!

If there is a smell,
Its those of worm wet stones,
atop the well.

So sweet in the nose
Like magnificent tones
From a falling bell,
it rings so well.

Clouds of water adrift in the air,
Lighter then can be compared.

A glories display
of emotions all day,
Her splashes do play.
Like that of tides in a old bay.

This is a description of a place,
Something I feel is Niagara’s face.
Not to take away,
But I have never seen her,
not even in this way!