Through The Warm Day - Poem by Robert Rorabeck
There is a viper in the tall grass
Slithering toward her pink
While the sun in his high house,
Beams down on a dead field-mouse.
The poet spies from up in the tall tree,
The gathering agents of God’s epiphany.
The lady is licking her lunch
From her plump fingers,
As her husband is concentrating
On adding figures.
Upon the lake glistening like a mirror
Comes the timid sailboat of two youthful lovers.
The young lady arches her a@s
All the higher,
So God and the serpent soon conspire.
The poet in his tree-house is already
Through the warm day the clouds go unweeping.
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