The Kindling Blade Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Morning comes uneasy like a
First-time thief,
But he is back again to show quick
Eyes
The grief: Of workaday seasons,
Of dying pets,
Of cobras hooded in the Astroturf-
Pretty girls ignore him, surf:
And my two dogs still sleep,
Legs twitching through that gray forest-
Three hours to the east, old girlfriends
Are new wives, mewing, yawning in their
Professional beds, bobbing their heads
And cooking things up-
The morning is lovely when fully occupied,
And the yards at the end of its drooling jaw
Good and mowed-
But up in the gray mountains the perpetual
Bachelors have a long road to hoe;
And still the velvet ejaculations sing like
Pristine pistils all poison and spurious rippling,
Rippling across the edge of the kindling blade.