The Sectarian Churches Of Our Workday Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Let me make a song and give it to you,
A paper bouquet
Filled with the colorful scribbles of my
Feelings
For your throat and eyes- because I am only
For you
Even though it doesn’t seem to be a possibility
That you will ever listen,
But I have had my love, for I have seen you
Like the heavens around a Christmas tree,
And my heart has swung for you,
Smoking confections I have sweated through
The sectarian churches of our work day-
But you are gone now,
And the lions yawn, and the little girls board
The airplanes,
All of them filled with joy as if they were
Going home to see their mothers.