The Mountains And Candied Apples Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Off to a party of Ferris wheels, while the little girls—
Spendthrifts—are all gathering their stuffs:
When they get done,
Bloody-nosed—they look up the slope to the atmosphere
Of the waterfall—
The waterfall is seeming to come down in
Some kind of pieta for them—
Maybe it is almost Christmas—I wonder what has been
Happening, while, all of this time they
Metamorphosed—
Yes, they did—until they became the grandeur of
An astonishing zoo populated by girls all of
One of a kind—
Fed by the offshoots of the nipples of the mountains—
Like carnivals of weathervanes spitting chewed up
Confections and candied apples—
To feed her in the exhibits too far beneath all she
Ever knew.