Friday, July 10, 2015

Permission Granted




It’s time to snub the dictation of hours
To slow down, my love, and stroll among flowers
For we are not heirs to this chair full of sky
Or this jug of lemonade we call July

It’s time to amend our priorities
Come, sit and list to the song of the trees
It slides from each leaf in a shush-hushing lay
And slips from the lips of breeze-kin as they play

It’s time to recline on a bank in bare feet
Where every grass-tuft is a window seat
And every seat is the end of a dock
Far, far from the edict of tick-tock, tick-tock

It’s time to admit that we want more than this
Frenzy-touch hurry-hello-farewell kiss
Come to the garden; un-tether the noose
That binds you and keeps you from being footloose

It’s time to walk through that long-sought Brigadoon
Complete with a sweet-tea-and-book afternoon
Permission granted, chants the dream-blue sky
For it will not always be July

© Janet Martin

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