Resting With The Butterflies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Are frailty, burning matchsticks in the daylight-
Kindled tallow in the classrooms,
In smoldering nuisances-
Piglets in the shivering cold rooms, under the
The dressing rooms of her Siamese eyes
Which are moons,
Wounded, blue and wonderful, and filled with
Frightened animals that live
In her bareness’s
And take shelter in her nakedness-
And she is up there,
Blackened off eye, but she pretends to
Cry as she looks down
Over the smoldering crops of the funerals
Of our carnivals-
The Ferris Wheels resting with the butterflies
Who whisper to them of their own
Metamorphosis-
But the Ferris Wheels are envious, for they
Know they shall never change.