The Song Birds Going Down Into The Mine Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If they said that the rivers were beautiful,
Then you know that they are; and you are sleeping right
Now in the little bed next to your brown
Man,
Your extended family breathing in their adjoining rooms
Like windmills pecking a valley:
And you have crossed the frontera, so you languish like
A desert rose in the forefront of my mind:
And I think sometimes that you have been so kind to me,
But other times I think you have been so unkind:
But the traffic rushes by anyways, and other girls forget who
They are and are never mindful of what they could mean to me;
But if I say to them that you are beautiful,
Then they will know that you are-Alma;
For my drunken music comes singing out from every pore,
Geysers of recreation who mouth of like the last echoes
Of the song birds going down into the mine.