The Moral Of The Story Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There goes the wombs back and forth, the
Day labors licking their own salts: red ants
And mothers:
There they go, horticulturists of their naturally
Embalmed off springs:
The little sparklers of their joys, watering their
Lawns,
And crying through the hibiscus that something
Else is found,
And come see: looking across the canals
At the comets giving chase-
Unicorns idolizing horses with wings, as pilots
Sketch their stewardesses fizzing across
The cloud banks which turn out to
Be giants peering into tinfoil windows:
At their feet, in the grape fields of Spain,
The foxes leaping at the moral of the story.