Mountains on a stage overlooking <br />The fruit market, <br />And beside her the road home: <br />It doesn’t hurt to look at her more, <br />But yes it does: <br />And to remember her, <br />Like a birdbath of honey spilling <br />Over the watermelons: <br />Or the same old song that sleeps <br />Alone in a world <br />Fitted for her children, and the fairgrounds <br />Will come back around once a year, <br />And want to collect her, <br />And she will pretend to go with them, <br />As if she were climbing up a ladder into <br />My misconceived heart, <br />But then, tenderly, <br />She will go down again, and return <br />Home in her thievery, <br />Counting all of the wonderful things <br />She managed to steal from the fairgrounds of <br />My heart.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-the-fairgrounds/
