The day beckons
Beyond the window glass,
Calling me out
Of this cubicle
With promises
Of lazy past times,
Of reading a good book
While swinging
In a rope hammock,
Of dozing in the sun-dappled shade
Of a great oak.
The hours after lunch
Seem to crawl by
Despite my industriousness, and
I find myself daydreaming,
Reading the same information
Over and over again
With little sinking in
As my eyes drift repeatedly
To the window
And the promises that beckon
Just beyond my reach.
Five o'clock really isn't
So far away,
Yet the hours stretch before me
As if they are
An eternity.