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