1377

Sunday morning shouldn't be a pain;

After all, you've been with me each day

And every time I've stopped to talk to you

You've always listened, as if what I say

Matters, and you'll give it some thought

Before you answer, even when you see

Me wayward, selfish, childish, or what's worse

The opposite of what you've hoped for me.

But Sunday - oh dear, here we go again

Pious thoughts and pious intonation

As prayers and hymns and words regurgitate

Drowning out your voice through invocation.

Maybe I should go to my own room

To find your light within its gentle gloom.

Brian Hick July 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 3.9.25