The value in doing nothing.
I can't seem to remember the last time I sat
in the warm summer sun under a wide-brimmed hat
and abandoned myself to sweet day-dreams,
making big plans and scheming wild schemes.
It must have been at least forever and a day
since I spread a blanket in a thick, cool shade
then lay with my face real close to the earth,
and knew that this hour had more worth
than all the time spent in frantic doing
of things for which my heart felt no wooing.
I wonder; If I should try again now
to 'waste' a little time, would I still know how,
or has my body and spirit, in a business-like way,
forgotten how to live a lazy summer day?
Poetry by Barbara Carleton
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Written on 2010-09-15 at 17:48
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