The Make Believe Girls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They were selling all of the pleasantries to look
At the moon:
Up there were the trophies of her stolen gifts
Which made the foxes pregnant
To come craving, leaping from their dens-
Who made the truants breathless through
The juvenile mountains:
Purple throated, holding back their songs until
They were bruised- the clouds above them
A thicket of pale roses growing over
The make-believe girls buried up there
Who were never abused.