Sunday

In fog as thick as Sunday morning ever got There softly stepped a careful waking fool The pumping blood that hammered in his head Gave rhythm to the pain that clutched his eyes He reached a shaking hand to grasp his cup As whispers of his conscience teased his hackled neck At times like these the souls of other men From ill remembered mists arise And laugh with joy to meet another foolish wreck In sweat bled fear of where he’s been and why And as the morning clears from fog to red He sees why others balk and fear to tread Upon the paths where other fools have led And for the umpteenth time begins to swear To never ever stretch his aching head Beyond the limits of its solid boney wear But now there’s one more reason to rejoice With Happy Birthday greetings from the boys