Autumn

The leaves are falling, falling as from far,

as though above were withering farthest gardens;

they fall with a denying attitude.

And night by night, down into solitude,

the heavy earth falls far from every star.

We are all falling. This hand's falling too–

all have this falling-sickness none withstands.

And yet there's One whose gently-holding hands

this universal falling can't fall through.