Too Beautiful For Me To Describe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I drink as I stand and the night vanished
Without any reason—
I do not have any more personality than the morning,
And the most of what I've done should be
Forgotten:
And then they are growing up—and the lungs of
Infant babies are becoming butterfly wings—
Each wave a glass house that is soon
Destroyed—
And another number gone into the lost and
Found of the playgrounds of the echoes of
The churches—
Your old teacher was your beloved, but now
There are so many mice in the castles that
There doesn't even seem to be a place to stand in
The movie theatre—so the words are divorced
From their mouths—
And the night shutters its existence a kaleidoscope
Blinded by the daylight and the multitude of
Things that are too beautiful for me to describe to
Enjoy.