Fall.
I often stood,
waiting in stead,
waiting for a fall instead
of waiting to see who I am,
Am I really me
Or another’s man?
I wait and see,
as the rain pours down,
down the heavens,
as little plants drown.
Does no one care,
how they may be?
Those little plants,
with hearts so genteel.
Hearts now crushed,
we wait in stead,
waiting for a fall instead.












