Sunday Sonnet

Sunday Sonnet A floating Sunday stew spells love to me A bit of sage, and steam from rosemary, Can you hear the sizzle and yummy call, The smell of stewed cinnamon applies in fall. Waiting for homemade dinner’s smells to eat, Nap on Sunday, then pie or cake for treats, This is what imagination’s made of, Harmonizing in the rumble seat sun. Savoring potatoes, tomatoes and meat, Cream gravy that oozes, and can’t be beat, Family humming sleepy nostalgic songs. And I know that I am where I belong. I am yearning for the ordinary, Though home is not ordinary to me.