Even If They Never Make It Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Broken, and the children are moving home now
Like snails through a forest ruined
By fire: and someone is shouting,
And someone is pointing out,
But gold hangs in the trees: at first it looks like
Serpents hanging there,
But it is some other tale- infatuated and fanciful;
And the crowds gather and dress up and go to
Dances:
It almost feels alright to believe again, that your
Loved ones are coming home,
And even if they never make it there, at least they
Are thinking of you.