The Sheep Of Angels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Continents of love and now lions- I’ll find
Away, while I’ve just been starting out underneath the
Halos of starless forests, while the foxes have been leaping,
Busy mouthed,
And I tent to exagerate: well, this at least is my busy vine:
They keep leaping for steaks, and drinking
For wine:
And the railroads of star-crossed lovers continue their
Burning séances underneath the mountains-
They can hardly remember the lost hallways of their high school,
But they keep turning out,
Like topless angels without a voice to shout- or in a school
Yard far away, parked like cars,
I care not to wonder what they have to say- while voices proceed
Voicelessly- while I have been counting the sheep of angels,
But I can hardly imagine you understand how much it means to me.