[FOsen]

It's disconcerting and perhaps appalling
to contemplate how much around us falls.
Each blessed evening somewhere night is falling,
there's rain and morals, Thursdays, rubber balls,
whose natural state is falling, or they fell,
or seem about to do so; for a tide
of information makes it hard to tell.
There's leap years, by-elections, and there's Pride;
there's Man, who's exiled from a state of grace
and always seems much downer at the mouth
when noting wits and arches, arse and face,
each day are resolutely headed south.
There's standards, confidence, and expectations,
a sparrow, soldiers, tears, a host of nations.
Rome fell, and Lana Turner, and Niagara.
Screw chicken soup, our souls could use Viagra.

Frank