Gossamers For Puppets Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Gossamers For Puppets
Old men who used to be convicts
Sleep near the sea—
For a thousand miles up and down—
Old men,
And white birds,
Anything but vultures circling above
The miserable clouds,
Like a story book for kidnapped girls—
Like long lines waiting for a popular
If moribund movie—
With all of the possible hairpin turns
Played out—
And gossamers for puppets—not
Yet real boys—still on strings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 8:06:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
