Sunday Ways.
Afternoon yawns along lulled cobble streets
as Sunday relief beckons comfort to people.
Coast-swept valley folk stretch Sunday-legs
to hill-high chapels and heads
bend to pray as Sunday-sea laps reverently,
milk-mild and rippleless
while hinterland whispers browse to passing
ambles of un-hasty cattle
loath to quit pasture for stick-dry cow shed.
White azure wipes haze over Sunday sky
and time eases as housewives
fold greasy aprons to revive post-dinner
languor alongside napping
males who full-bellied unbutton to snore
in belch-ridden dreams
those second helpings of creamy fruit pie.
Sunday-dusk drifts in with need to linger
as kitchen gathers its family
for sandwich supper of Sunday-eve treats
yet weekend ceases while
togetherness blinks as clock-chime shows
Sunday-ways stop when cool
hob-black kettle loses its prodding to sing.
As fire-glow dies tired souls climb worn steps
where sleep knows dawn means labour again.