Over The Sad Old Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Over The Sad Old Earth



Deciding to start fresh every morning,
Pallbearers put any old thing into the earth; but bless
My soul if it isn’t a young thing,
Now just a pittance of dearth while the
Helicopters are scouting, each a bladed hallucination remembering
Suburbia:
They go through the sky counting the trailers in parks,
The lines of your loved ones stamped to the earth;
And in the day they fan out like children in a playground each
Of them uncertain of what all there is to do;
And I remember you in that playground; and I think of you,
While this funny young boy gets ready for heaven:
Beneath him his sons all lucky and seven. In the evening after their
Work, they smoke under the poplars. Afterwards,
They will go to sleep next to their seven brides, their seven wonders:
The helicopters will watch over them like floating angels
Until another morning comes again over the sad old earth.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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