Falling…
under drops, under cloud,
in the air, toward the ground,
and in that moment brief between,
drifting—ever so slowly.
Falling…
like a leaf, once so green,
then so bright and to be seen—
but now so faded, brittle, brown:
free at last to be lowly.
Falling…
not unwilling, never wronged,
neither fatefully drawn along,
but for goodness—for the earth!
To my source I go wholly.
Caelan Rowan McCuen 