The bruises on my knees are a sign
                  Not of prayer nor promiscuity
                But of frequent, faithless falls

And I wonder why nothing ever breaks my fall
Before my fall breaks me
                This fall - autumn - is breaking me

The wind whisks a blanket of leaves over me
                                     Reminding my weary soul of the way winter was
Of the way winter will be      

With its white blankets of snow,
       and of fleece and of sadness
                     Wondering why things are so cyclic

Up, down, over and over
                           The leaves grow change and fall
                               And I follow right along with them