Sunday, 21 July 2013

Sunday morning poem

Morning is silence here, waking is a quiet matter
Steaming kettles perhaps the clink of a teaspoon
Jam on buttered cooked bread
Today's clothes laid out ready
Sleepy eyed, making the bed
And then the bells start ringing
Their beautiful sing song of the day
They echo to every window, beckoning the town to pray
Sunday morning here is a quiet affair, 
Until the church bells ring, in the church over there. 

No comments:

Post a Comment