The Echo Of A Carnival Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Echo Of A Carnival

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Alphabet and tongue of rain—cleaning the indescribable
Rabbits in the aloe:
Toads underneath the mailbox—
Toads used to be tadpoles—Luckless ixoras in the garden
That has become so over grown—
My mother in the carport that has become a tomb—
Ghostly light of an ethereal yew—
Her arms over spilled with the grandiose disillusions of
The moonlight—
Her two or three children asleep in their one or two
Rooms—
The road leading down into the darkness—
The forest sweeping like brooms—
She hears the echo of a carnival from her grottos—
Bending to pray—knowing that her dark prince will
Be home too soon.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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