Sunday Morning

Butterflies flutter in through the window,
Red, yellow and blue.
In, like a shower of rainbows,
In all merry colours and hue.
Girls play by the swing,
Spilling laughter onto their white dress,
Watching rabbits hop around the meadow,
Looking like they couldn’t care less.
I sit among autumn leaves,
Turning the pages of time,
Looking through happy pictures
Of beautiful eyes and smiles sublime.
It is a Sunday morning,
A day of fun and frolic.
I look around from under my blanket,
I watch the clock gently tick.
Curling up cosily with another pillow,
I watch sunlight flow in through the blinds.
I inhale the scent of my soft hair.
This is love of another kind.
It is a Sunday morning.
So, I play footsie with myself.
I toss and turn upon my bed
And drift off to sleep, once again.
Waking up can wait,
I don’t want to get up yet.
No alarm to scream, nowhere to rush,
I am going to lie in till late.
I return to my wonderland,
With me on the swing in my white dress.
I play with the bunnies and the butterflies.
I lie among autumn leaves in the shade.
It is a Sunday morning.
So, everything can wait.
I can dream on for long
And wake up to reality, late.

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