<html><head><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body dir="auto"><div><span></span></div><div><p class="" align="center" style="text-align: left;">Permission</p><div style="text-align: center;"> <br class="webkit-block-placeholder"></div><p class="">It was an unexpected moment,</p><p class="">A slender young stranger</p><p class="">Sitting on the bookstore floor</p><p class="">In the poetry section.</p><div> <br class="webkit-block-placeholder"></div><p class="">I, browsing for a collection I’d not read.</p><p class="">She, handling every book in a row.</p><p class="">“What are you looking for?” I asked.</p><p class="">“I’m not sure.”</p><p class="">“Is it an assignment or for you?”</p><p class="">“For me.”</p><p class="">“Might I suggest?”</p><p class="">“Oh, yes,” she smiled up at me.</p><div> <br class="webkit-block-placeholder"></div><p class="">Then, magic. . .</p><p class="">My passion for poetry</p><p class="">To share in the world.</p><p class="">“How about this, Billy Collins’ Picnic Light,</p><p class="">Profound and funny.”</p><p class="">She examined the cover and read,</p><p class="">But only a small luminosity.</p><p class="">“Or this one, William Stafford. Check out,</p><p class="">The Way It Is.”</p><p class="">She held the book like crystal, and thought a moment.</p><div> <br class="webkit-block-placeholder"></div><p class="">“Maybe a woman? Do you know Mary Oliver?”</p><p class="">She shook her head.</p><p class="">I opened to Wild Geese.</p><p class="">Her eyes watered, as her posture lifted,</p><p class="">Smiling moonlight,</p><p class="">“Oh, yes, this is what I’m after.”</p><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- Roy Woolfstead</div>
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