A Certain Sunday Morn
How the morn wakens with life,
to tether a sleepy soul
with simple delights;
The manna lights upon the land,
the swell of the sun ballooning
like some prim-adonna,
A starling to lead teasing to treetops
(a little black speck)
(star-of-Bethlehem-met)
swaying in soft wind....
Tickling the trees with its breeze
and tender tune;
so soon hushed,
the houses blush below ----
to parks the children go,
cyclists for cars....
The far traffic din slim with Sunday;
this Easter with the peace of Christ,
his everlasting smile,
so lovely upon the land
(A certain Sunday morn)
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
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