Like A Dawn Cluttered With Song Birds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Snowing over the bodies of the forest
That are a nest for
The wolves and the white hares- and my memories
Of this- before you are born-
When you are not even a pearl in a clam,
Or a tortoise in her shell
Underneath a lonely school bus down hill from
The graveyard:
But this remains your place, in the high basins
Aspiring to be stewardesses-
Or angels in their skating rinks- Someone has stolen
The moon,
And put it in a bouquet, but you haven’t arrived
Yet- My parents are coming,
But they do not bring you gifts- They will sleep
In my house, and I will dream of you,
Though the fire-pit is empty,
And your eyes, like a dawn cluttered with song birds-
Have yet to even open.