Fay Slimm.

Sundayness

 

 

Sundayness.


Afternoon yawns below lulled cobble streets 
as slow Sundayness calls all cottage people.   

 

Coast-swept valley folk stretch best-clad legs
to hill-high chapels and heads
bend to pray as Sunday sea laps in summer,
milk-mild and rippleless
while fat hinterland whispers \"Yes\" to grass          
ambles of un-hasty cattle            
loath to quit pasture for stick-dry cow shed.   

 

White azure wipes Sunday\'s sapphire sky
with fine haze as housewives
fold greasy aprons to revive post-dinner
languor alongside napping
males who full-bellied unbutton to snore
away, in belch-ridden dreams, 
more creamy helpings of sweet fruit pie.

 

Sunday-dusk drifts in last need to linger 
as kitchen gathers its family
Sunday-ness for sandwich  supper of rich 
weekend treats, then well-fed
togetherness blinks as clock-chimes show
Sunday-ways stop when hot
hob-black kettle cools last desire to sing. 

          

As fire-glow dies tired souls climb worn steps        
where sleep knows dawn means labour again.