The Beauties Of Yesterday Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pleasant is the void of the horses
As it is to another failure: the day fails—every crepuscule it
Is defeated:
The dragon defeats Beowulf, the little girl is kidnapped:
And my muse is married to another man:
I am married,
But her soft hand lies buried on the other side of
The earth:
All of her ancestors are cremated,
And they've taken away all of the highest swings from
The park—
The waves burn like fire into the dark,
And the airplanes fly away from here—the tarmac
Is empty—the fair has gone away—
But death lingers, curled as ivy,
Remembering the beauties of yesterday.