The Gentled Rolling Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They were held over in their march,
So even the prettier girls had to watch the way
The bachelors clung to their sallow houses
Underneath the forts and their dying
Butterflies-
The terrapins in the makebelieve mangroves
Eating lunch underneath the tallest of crosses,
While the greatest of loves is lost
To almost all of the tourists
Until she lies there, fainted in desperation
A cenotaph of a rose
For the graves of the conquistadors
Underneath the gentled rolling of the mowed
Grasses.