Sunday Ways.
Afternoon yawns below lulled cobble streets
as slow-Sunday relief 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.