In The Angels' Filigree Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Up in the angels' filigree—she thought of me,
She thought of he-
And the world flipped over and pretended to
Be dead,
As the mermaids and the angels awakened from
The sea bed—
And, oh, listen, oh—
While it was coming around—
It was playing itself dead, it was laying itself down—
Upon our anniversary—oh, with the satellites doing
Calisthenics to their very toes—
And the angels were laying themselves to the
Very playgrounds—
And the umpires were crossing themselves to make
Sure there were no vampires around—
And the world got up and shook itself
Down—
And the children remembered themselves before
The town—and spoken words as epitaphs that
Would never have to know—
That the only thing the angels were good at
Was making their own silhouettes in the f—ing—
f—ing snow.