THE FALL

I’ll sing a song of kings and queens And falling leaves and flying rain, With Time to mow, and Fate who gleans Their good and evil, boon and bane. I’ll sing a song of leaves and rains And flying queens and falling kings, Yet doubt not reason still remains Snug hidden at the core of things. For every year an autumn brings To round the root and fat the sheaves And haply garner queens and kings With falling rain and flying leaves. The rain is salt with tears of queens, The leaves are red with blood of kings; Unknowing what the mystery means, We puzzle at these mighty things. For why great kings and rains should fall, And wherefore leaves and queens should fly, Or such rare wonders be at all, You cannot tell; no more can I. Yet this we know: new leaves and rain Anon shall crown the vernal scene, But dust of dynasts not again Blows up into a king or queen.