Tree leaves are falling, from grey sky,
as if orchards were aging quickly
without knowing why,
Each fallen leaf tells us that
death is the motion of “no”.
And tonight the heavy earth murmurs,
withdrawing from the milky way in loneliness.
Our hearts sink. our hands hand low,
Letting the weigh of maturity go.
Yet, there is someone, whose hands
are forever irony and steely,
withholding the stress from the Fall.