Sally's Falling

Sally's falling.
We're all waiting for her landing but she's too high up.
We've been waiting for centuries and she has not made it to the ground yet.
Sally's too far away but too far near to ignore suspense and yearn for her landing.

Her hair has grown since her mishap of a step on the clouds as she danced over the earth.
Her clothes have already faded in color, holes in several places, and with too many more years, we're afraid she'll land naked, in disgrace.
Sally's wings are broken, her halo disintegrated a hundred years ago, but her harp is still in her hands.

Thousands of more feet and we know she'll meet the earth, finally.
The seconds tick, the minutes inch, and the hours creep, but we know she'll be here soon.
Sally's falling to her death, we can't catch her, lest we join her in death's cold grip.

Our eyes stay glued to her form as she crashes into the earth.
Her body and bones are broken as if she was made of stone.
Perhaps she was?
Her golden harp is still intact but the strings have faded.

Sally has fallen and we can't wake her.
Now our lands will run dry because she will not pour anymore water.
The trees, grass, and plants will die without her voice in the wind.

Our hopes will crash and crumble just like Sally's body after her great fall.