The leaves are falling, falling as from far away,
as if remote gardens withered in the skies;
they are falling with denying gestures.
And in the nights the heavy earth is falling
out of all the stars down into loneliness.
We are all falling. This hand falls.
And look at others; it is in everything.
And yet there is the One who holds this falling
endlessly gently in his hands.
(Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke – 1875 – 1926)