Blindest Gold Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Blindest Gold



I’ve tromped upon the blindest gold.
I’ve made myself into a fist,
And grasped her as I was told,
The angel hidden high up in that clasp:
She smiled and drove away with her kids;
But you will not see what I have told,
I’ve tromped upon the blindest gold.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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