The Very Thing It Is Weeping For Poem by Robert Rorabeck
The Very Thing It Is Weeping For
Her family reaches far and wide:
They sing, wake up, and make love; I have a little book
Hidden in the hollow of a sunken ship:
It doesn’t move: it only weeps, and when the rain comes
It weeps some more although almost anyone will be
Less likely to hear it;
And it weeps without her name, the very thing that it is
Weeping for.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: family
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8/27/2026 8:15:57 AM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
