The Wolves And The Woodsmen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now they’ve shown this architecture to their
Queen they are going home,
Pony-eared, long stemmed:
Leaping, giddy sensed over whatever fields
They find,
Fitting between the fences, the pinwheels
And the monsters in the cliffs
Until they have to return again after midnight
All of their heroes metamorphosed:
And when they get to the spots of danger they
Have to hold on for their dear lives
As the stories become unfolded like the hoods
Of uncountable cobras:
Like vixens on the highways riding up to the
Heavens: a Ferris Wheel of two many chances
Coming around,
Dousing in the fanfares of true believers,
As the stewardesses sit in the bleachers sweating
Of their perfumes equally to the wolves
And the woodsmen who she guesses will make
Good use, equally, of both of their turns.