Adam: the Fall
Standing at the foot of the tree
I cannot foresee the descent,
Just that freedom seems ripe to me,
A fruit to be plucked, an event.
Leaning there, with blue sky above,
Rich cerulean, (the color of love)
I see her approach, through the flowers—
Unheeded, her mystical powers.
For every attraction
An unseen reaction
Lost in the breath of the day
Like each word I find hard to say.
Odd, bright birds their descant leaving,
Silent, as if they were grieving;
The little dogs lag far behind,
An action quite fresh to their kind.
The oft swirling sun slips away
Casting patches of darkness this day;
The little dogs sit in the grass,
Hoping confusion might pass.
Her beauty is glory uncovered,
Her gift remains undiscovered;
Unthinking I pluck from her hand,
Turning freedom and bliss into sand.
