Like Pinwheels Over The Engravings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A path to a graveyard can seem beautiful while walking
Down upon it—
And there is a lake against your left shoulder
And speed boats dancing and interrupting the respites of
Swans—
And you move through the swells of houses and
Periodic apple orchards—
Abodes of professors or musicians, and certainly
People who have made enough to afford them—
And the sunlight gets rich in the daytime
Over the gravestones—spins like pinwheels over
The engravings—
And the dead who no longer have eyes can at least enjoy
The feeling of the playgrounds of sunlight
Where beams of it get lost in the loose foliage
And seem to dance for a while like those mirages of
Girls that never even pretended to be in love with a boy.