Us All Along Our Way Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They felt like their child of other features,
Lost in the garden or only turning around; and
It might have been but some awful trick,
The way I was spelling myself all mumbojumbo
Besides the day going traffic:
And the house that we all lay under was wide and yellow,
And the waves sang a disastrous chorus,
Spreading themselves at their table- curiously,
They came nearer, only to scour away- and then some
Bird sang, and the trucks struck out again like lances,
Mounting the highways that leapt over all that
Could be seen and gallantly charged us all along our way.