Their Fairground's Verdant Yards Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Space-shuttle looking nice in its place above the trees
And palaces
And movie theatres—
Over all of the forgotten parts of the world—maybe you
Haven't even completed your mission,
But she is here:
Floating over the forests—
Over the mountains that lose themselves and their
Summits in the daylights—
Even with the most gentle of slopes, the little children
Become lost upon,
Become foundlings of beavers and bears—
And their fingers linger in the spotlights of the orchards,
Hoping that the angels and the genies will place
Whatever delightful jams upon their finger tips,
So that they won't have to linger for much longer—
And they can lose themselves in the daydreams or wherever it
Is they can find for sure
That the lighthouses and the windmills talk to them,
Spinning in the sunbeams—and apexing in the buzzing apiary of
Their fairground's verdant yards.