Yellow paper making out of us Pharisees- and
Other plagiarisms in the church-
While our grandmothers rested in graveyards,
And the cars drove
Around underneath the bumble bees:
And the fires roared, and scattered the deer
And the other wildlife in a lurch-
And the tourists, crowding the ice-cream parlors
Down the slopes from the mountains
Could not sit still any longer-
And the barbers looked up the slopes as all kinds
Of children of god came running down.

Robert Rorabeck

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-slopes-from-the-mountains/