Tuesday, June 14, 2016

But oh, The Afternoon



The afternoon meanders like a brook in mid-July
It eddies through fringed maple-windows blue with bits of sky
It trickles where time’s humor smiles from unbarred isles aloft
And sparkles like a diamond coronet, yet, oh, so soft


Some think God spills His rarest ink in pink sunset and rise
But I have read fairest of letters on afternoon skies
Its ink so blue one can see through to on and on above
Its well so deep it seems to mirror metaphors for love
  

A meant-for-more-than-toiling epoch cupped twixt noon and night
An afternoon is surely a first-class, green-grass delight
Where haste begs to be gentled just enough to taste the hour
Borne from the bud of morn into a full and ample flow’r



Its field is like a yellow lake fenced by treed silhouette
It dallies where a chair, a book, a cup of tea is set
And oft we overlook this gift dressed in meek beggar’s spoil
Or trudge begrudgingly across its albatross of toil


White cotton-candy clouds appease the one who dares to lie
Beneath blue-collar luxuries; a wide, untrodden sky
A miniature vacation midst love’s common kiss and dance
Of to-do lists; an afternoon runs rife with life’s romance

Ah, soon its lilt like petals will spill into blue good-bye
Its rippling roster cradled, flushed with vesper lullaby
But until then, come, revel in time’s dear and daily boon
And dream a little dream upon sweet summer’s afternoon

© Janet Martin

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