I would be willing to drink for a while
The warm mellow, yellow
Of May’s genteel smile
And I would be willing to let the hour pass
Lounging on pillows
Of earth-scented grass
Beneath budding tresses of willow-tree sigh
The back-drop an azure
And cloud-coddled sky
Where nothing would wander from this perfect spot
But the pleasures I ponder
In the garden of thought
© Janet Martin