The leaves are falling, falling as from far,
from wilting in the heavens’ distant gardens:
They’re falling to deny the summer’s mirth.
And in the nights the heavy Earth
falls into solitude from star to star.
We all are falling. See my hand: it is falling.
And look at others: It’s in all their calling.
And yet there’s One, who’s holding all this falling,
with endless tenderness, in His upturned hands.