Friday, April 26, 2013

Our Haste or Hour-haste

Come, said the green meadow, all giddy with gold, 
Wage feeds the body but I feed the soul.

Ah, emerald rush beneath the sky
Coaxing, inviting us to lie
Beneath the sweep of aural blue
But we have too much work to do

The pattern of an hour’s haste
Forbids us to be still and taste
Ambrosia of rain-washed breeze
Or spring’s sun-swaddled fantasies

The blue hills taunt from skyline shores
The green field beckons and implores
That we should come, wander awhile
Where gentler things of living smile

Ah, emerald rush of spring’s glad green
Here Mother Nature is a queen
Inviting pilgrim’s, one and all
To feast in her grand banquet hall

We ought to heed her pleasant plea
Climb to her lap of luxury
We ought to take the time to kneel
Beneath the grace of Bezaleel

The head, though it may be so smart
Should heed the whisper of the heart
How pitiful to sadly waste
A lifetime, bound by hour-haste

© Janet Martin


Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!