Green Axes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wounds on a face that has to return to work in the
Morning while the sky is still a crucifix,
And the snails curl underfoot with the terrapin:
There are diamonds on the path of lost children,
But they lead nowhere: not even to witches,
Or the hapless knights up in their Christmas trees
Whose green axes were once known for taking down
These woods
Through which the pointless weathers bluster:
And the mountain lions yawn, like roses up from the footprints
Of overzealous geodes who once discovered are taken
Up and admired for awhile,
While the elk forage through the sleet and hale;
And then finally, they are set down again: and the old
Forest is burned away, until even more beautiful girls come
In to a house opened to the sky- and sit together in
A church of cryptic sorority, praying
For the flowers to come again, never once taking anymore
Account of me.