Pageantry Of Snowstorms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pageantry of snowstorms beating against the random
Shells of the knights' chests—
The mobiles spin perpetually across the woebegone
Mountains,
And the sun of a god I never knew looks a long ways off—
They seem to be all caught up inside of
A cheerful orchard,
Like marionettes spilling their guts: the way I remembered
Making my way to Christmas one day
All of the way from Spain to France—
Until the last raindropp fell into her cup,
And she arose, shining like alabaster—like an obnoxious
Birthstone that blinded all of the forest
In the early morning
Of its unfortunate birthday.