Dawn Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I love the dawn,
But that doesn’t mean anything-
Those are just words in a language
We’ve been weaned on;
And if Dawn is real,
Than she is girl,
And too beautiful to belong
In my language of dawn,
Though I am still in love with her:
Dawn, but that is meaningless, if
It means anything
Than Dawn is real, a creature of my
Language, we sing a similar song,
But she’s too busy to just belong
In my words attuned and worshipful
In the language of dawn;
And still I see her caroling on the street,
As the world quiets, she skates
Sweating beneath the cypress and palms
My imagination decorates,
Tinseled and tawn,
Young and gone goes sweet,
Sweet unobtainable
Dawn.