The Finality Of Forlorn Migrations Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Finality Of Forlorn Migrations



We are here dancing and making love
And it might not even be spring, but I have two
Bicycles
And letters that slip through my house like the finality of
Forlorn migrations,
And now I admit to myself that I love you, Alma,
Even though that is what I told you all day.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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