An Ode To Sunday Poem by Shirley Harrison

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.