Autumn

Autumn

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far away,
as if distant gardens were withering in the heavens;
They fall with a dismissive gesture.
And at night, the heavy earth falls
from all the stars into solitude.

We all fall. This hand here is falling.
And look at the others: it’s in all of them.
And yet there is One who, in this fall,
holds so gently in his hands.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Loki Schmidt’s favourite poem, which was also read out at her funeral.