A Pome a Day for a Year

Well the grains, they do tumble,
dropping like flies down them yellow stained walls
that might crumble
at any point, so you better watch and stand tall
I think I hear a rumble,
so move your body or that mound will take you all.

Cliffs that move, cliffs that recede
the erosion of structure an ever lasting force
that will make these cliffs the base
of some newer mountainous range in the far flung
forever, wherever we are not and can never be.

These particles slip and slide through
outstretched fingers, clasping and grasping
futilely onto time, horror dawning
with mouth awning, as snatched moments
evaporate before them.

And the cliffs of sand, they tumble
boy do they tumble,
and while you stumble
do not reach for that patchy grass,
your fall will not be caught.