Brown cathedrals of sunshine, <br />Burnishing equally over the carports <br />And the grottos <br />As well as the chicken coops- inside <br />Their soft waters, <br />Mothers in pieta, bare footed housewives <br />Electrocuted by open faced extension <br />Cords <br />As the toads sing that they want at least to <br />Be princes <br />Who most certainly ought to be kings: <br />The rhythms of a steady metamorphosis beat <br />In the rain- <br />As the fair in my heart never return- it went <br />Out into the yard, <br />And through the corrugations- the sea <br />Shells became brindled underneath the sun, <br />And someone who was more tragic than <br />I ran away.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sea-shells-2/
