The Bountiful Heavens Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And it goes on like this—
Sad inventions inside the hemispheres of
What light has to give—
The crisscrosses of bodies causing a
Dilapidation of shadows—
The work houses trundling underneath the
Windmills
Whom themselves kowtow to
The daisies—it becomes so far a wreck
That finally and eventually they have
To unearth the king:
Which one is he, his mound as rich as all
Of the conquistadors sunken
Underneath the corner convenient store:
The waves giving kisses to
His elbows, as I watch you, some kind of
Epaulet—until I have to awaken,
For there is school tomorrow—
And I will have to partake in all of the
Savage and strange romances of all of
The littlest boys and girls—
Strange shadows that sing and wreath in
Unison, undressing underneath the benchmarks of
Their eyes—
As the toys of their hearts live in the movie theatres
And the amusement parks that they can't wait
To get to all beneath the bountiful heavens of
Another beautiful day.