Lying Still Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We’ll get married and we’ll move to the city
And we’ll die in the presence of one another’s laughter—
All of the clocks and things behaving in the ways that
They should,
And the girls who are pretty getting prettier still,
Approaching the final hours we’ll let the seances speak
For themselves—
And employ the others just to make them behave—
As the satellites go around and around
Knowing that nothing moves that doesn’t first have to
Lie still.