Poem #2 - The Perfect Sunday

The perfect Sunday,
Is to sleep, and sleep and sleep,
Oh so very deep,
Until one is ready to open one's eyes,
But still stay snuggled under the blankets,
Until one is absolutely really ready to rise.

It shouldn't matter that it is already noon,
For what is the rush to get up so soon?
The alarm clock has an off day,
And has definitely lost its say,
That it is get up time,
So no ring tone to chime.

The perfect Sunday,
Is to stay snuggled in bed,
Until one feels ready to lift one's head,
And then gently stretch one's legs,
And head to the kitchen,
Where the body begs,
For a steaming cappuccino hot,
Isn't it wonderful to have to step outside not?

To then bring the cup to the couch,
And under a blanket one again goes,
With no worries that outside the wind coldly blows .
Putting on some lovely music...indie pop, perhaps,
And then curl up with a book,
And oh how easily time will just lapse.

Indeed this represents the perfect Sunday,
With no worry, whether rain or shine,
Indeed it is the best time for relaxation,
With lunch time in 3 hours,
That is just an approximation,
And dinner can be scheduled at will,
When one feels the tummy needs a fill,
Not following a schedule,
For the body is like a car,
That needs rest and refuel.


The End