Fay Slimm.

Sunday-Ways.

 

 

Sunday Ways.


Afternoon yawns over cobble-street cottages
lulled by Sunday\'s sunny-slow pace.

Coast-swept valley hamlets stretch best-clad
legs to hill-high chapels and heads bent pray
as Sunday-sea laps in summer, milk-mild and
rippleless while fat hinterland whispers a yes
to grassy-eyed cattle\'s un-haste.

 

As cloudlets brush Sunday-sapphire skies
with white stripes housewives fold sweaty
aprons to rest in post-dinner contentment
while belch-ridden males nap full-bellied
in smells of left-over gravy, un-buttoned
and snoring a roast-beefy dream.

Sunday-free youngsters and elders know
how to relax in single-minded enjoyment
as pudding\'s sweet custard slowly digests
then time whiles its easier Sunday-way by
later rumbling as need of strong-brew tea
accosts waking ears with bubbles of steam
from hob-black kettles making cups appear
on cake-plated tables of more home-mades
heavily topped with clotted cream.

 

Sunday-dusk drifts thru contented kitchens
as evening gathers its family Sunday-ness
for sandwiched supper of late sweet treats
then well-fed togetherness blinks as clocks
tick to chime\'s bed-time and sleep.