Falling

  It wasn’t nice,
  No, wasn’t nice,
To be called in the Garden by God.
  He called us once,
  He called us twice.
Was no answer a thing He thought odd?

  He must have known,
  We were His own,
He presumably knew what we did.
  Or was He stunned
  By what we’d done?
We refusedly shut up and hid.

  That’s us inside,
  We hide, we hide,
As He’s calling our names in the dusk.
  And though we all
  Regret the Fall,
To be falling is thrilling to us.