SUNDAY
By Grace Bizzarro
I manage through each lonely day
that passes since you went away.
Except Sunday.
Weekends were our time of rest.
The one sweet day I loved the best
Was Sunday.
The rendezvous beneath the quilt.
you wore nothing. I wore silk.
Breakfast in our marriage bed.
Steaming coffee, Vienna bread.
Worship, we were there at ten.
Picked up the papers and home again.
Dinner, candlelight and wine.
Sparkling crystal, china fine.
Evening walk in Woodland park.
Rush to get home just at dark.
Light the fire, it’s almost seven.
An evening spent in leisure heaven.
Then to sleep within your arms.
Free from worry, safe from harm.
From Monday to Saturday weeks drag by.
My tears well up.
I only cry on Sunday.