If They Should Fail Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Coloring in the vermilliad, they have a safe time
Talking with themselves:
The snow is hung over, the icicles have inched all week:
Libraries are closed underneath the heatless sun;
It feels good,
As if I have made new friends that shouldn’t have to move,
Even while the plates tinker over the warmth
And passions of the poles that sit and wonder if Spring
Might come,
While all of their gods make a zoetrope for the kings of
The past,
Who are still turning, keeping clockwise so that they should
Never have to wonder if they should fail.