| More Rilke
Harvest (Autumn)
translation by A.W. Tüting
The leaves are falling as if from afar,
as if from distant gardens withering in heaven;
with gestures saying nay they fall.
And in the nights, lost out of all,
the heavy earth falls down - a lonely star.
We all are falling. Nor this hand there stands.
And see all others: bound to this calling.
And still, there's Someone holding all this falling
with tenderness unending in his hands. | 
