From Time To Time Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What they have is real, and what you are is a smoking
Ruin.
The mountains will play their bassoons for you only
Because you have been to the tops of so many of them;
And have come down limping with
Grandmothers:
And pan will play his lyre for you: but you will eat your
Lunch in the lunchroom of the single men
While outside the window it is raining but only for a little
While,
Because nature recognizes what you’ve tried to accomplish
For her,
But she can only be sad from time to time.