Sundays.

Sunday brunches, happy hunches.
Rubbing your eyes, yawning in sleep
Tumbling out of bed in a heap.

Ab-crunches, heavy lunches.
An outward glance, the rythmic rain
Steadily beats against the window pane.

Laying in bed, thinking ahead.
Of tasks undone, of benefits to reap
Miles to go, the promises to keep.

And to my right, a guiding light.
A bare arm shifts in the morning cold
Night-time talks, and a heart of gold.

Then a prize, a grand surprise
A tail-coat that makes your hurries slow
Crinkle your nose, and smiles glow.

Silent comfort, a safety offered.
Conversations, not necessarily aloud
Cameraderie that's moved past sound.

One for joy, two for sorrow?
Verses and how wrong they be,
A family, just for me.

A portion, of devotion.
Here, there, across the seas and under,
Protectors, against the thunder.

Ticking off a list, sorting through the mist
Transformations, now weeks are duller?
And sundays suddenly technicolour.