20 November 2009


by Rainier Marie Rilke

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no."

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

1 comment:

Lou said...

I like this. I haven't read it before. Many lines have been written about autumn, and no doubt many more will be. It's a season that speaks to our sense of mortality (cue Gerard Manley Hopkins's Spring & Fall: to a young child) and our sense of how all of life is fleeting. Que sera sera!