Blanket Of Laughter Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dandelions have nothing to say
As the wind puckers and blows them
In the meadow,
The Diasporas of springtime,
Lovers on a honeymoon,
Kids on a fieldtrip—
Trapped unfairly as car doors open,
Some die airconditioned—
Umbrellas over a sea of grass
In no time at all float a mere eternity.
The sea is so green
Upon her verdant eyes;
Some sit in the shadows cusped
In Buddha’s palm,
They grow crimson yellow
In the blanket of laughter.