It is messy and rickety
Secret that saddens the heart
The wise also fall into thorns
A fall is every fools’ a sanctuary
A fall is aching but shy
A friendly but frantic tumble
It is volatile, gnarled and old
The reason for frantic weeps and pleads
A fall forces one to smell the earth
In a curious but explosive melancholy
To the innocent soft mournful whisperings
Of the ground’s vermin’s sweat, storm and steam
A fall blows away wisps of clouds,
Bowing the faint strands of sunshine
Those carrying hints of overtaxed heart
Pain of a poisoned good reputation
Sifting lies from a bulk of truth
A fall can smoothen all thoughts
It is a gone moment before starting
The wise had spoken of the word before
Of a mirror that had never shown reflection
Aston kamunde 