The Day Like Her Own Weather Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I loved another girl: in a few months I will die,
Defeat by the ordinary monsters, the same as any hero,
With no friends to resurrect from the dragon’s
Fangs,
But for right now I am only here wishing and drinking
Alone,
Trying to meet my quota of ballads dreaming of a
Girl who is my life, who is my rainbow,
And my butterfly:
I have called her as such in Spanish, but she won’t swallow
The homeopathy of such unrequited witchcraft,
But this is for her again, for my Alma,
Who has stolen my soul, and comes through the day like
Her own weather:
Who with any luck, I will ride bicycles with tomorrow.