One In Seven
Ticks imperceptibly further from tocks
Sally-anne gracefully brushing her locks
Perusing the papers in yesterday's socks
One eye on the news on the old goggle box
Lawns that want mowing, maybe today
No firm decision on that, either way
The daffies sway gentle their livery gay
As early the spring edges out winter grey
Wave at the neighbour out washing his car
Seems in no hurry, he's not going far
Exaggerate motion of tipping a jar
Inviting a post dinner trip to the bar
Somebody passing outside shares a laugh
While yellow billed blackbird agitates bath
Fido brings slippers, wife calls him staff
Then aerates the logs to enliven the hearth
Upon us the day when no desk shall tether
And only the mower shall fret over weather
A shower means trim the lawn next week or never
Well maybe not never, simply whenever
Dinner now served at family table
Sneak Fido a tidbit whenever I'm able
Courteous chat with mum in law, Mable
Kids stifle giggles, she's slightly unstable
Now Mable snoring, I do the dishes
Kids drying up conceal Facebook wishes
Mum by the pool sprinkles pellets for fishes
Whimsically lost in multi-finned swishes
And when gibbous moon gives off scant shadow light
And gone is the sun that shines somewhere else bright
Retire to our slumbers prepare for the fight
Batteries energise over the night
For five days or six we shall toil away
Earn twenty four hours to rest and to play
So never forfeit the day some people pray
This one day in seven, the Sabbath, Sunday.
Copyright © Terry Flood | Year Posted 2020
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