If She Refused To Come Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Somethings glide through the aspens on
Their bicycles,
Full of hopes even though there isn’t a path,
And it snows
While the river doesn’t have to need to sing,
And yet the hidden spring
Replenishes itself in her dressing room,
Quite sure she is beautiful
Where the red foxes glisten like the wayward
Contestants of a baseball game;
And what I had to say to her was for without
Reason,
But love…. A concept of panhandling,
A homeless, toothless sport,
A smoking hole in my shirt; and now I would
Like to go to her
And climb up her, nesting in the summit of her
Gaudy beads, all the fashion she puts
On moving with the circulations of the forest
Only she knows,
But she is not entirely jealous and would stare for
Awhile up at the pretty thief of moon
As it snuck the meanings of romance out
Of weighted sky and plied it to her trade,
As she grew more children
To shade a house for me, even if she refused to
Come home.