An Ode To Sunday

 
Waking to the sound of the birds
outside the window
sun peeping up from her bed
moon lowering her head
for some time off from her stage
and I?
rising up from sweet slumberbash
coffee on the boil 
my Moka bubbling away
telling me, it's ready to pour
into my bright blue oversized mug
waking me for the day ahead 
stretching up, feeling my freedom  
nowhere to go, no one to see
my only questions are to myself 
maybe a roast? 
with Yorkshire puddings? 
I'll read the paper, and then I’ll decide
no rush, the day has just begun 
so for now my choices 
a stroll perhaps? 
or a laze on my garden lounger 
just watching nature 
watching the cypress
green and noble
standing still in the frozen breeze
like a painting on the Tuscan landscape
nature that's so unpredictable 
anything can happen
It's Sunday, a day of rest 
a day where I can relax 
maybe, just maybe
I'll even paint one of those trees
onto canvas?
after all, this is
an ode to Sunday.