Slackened Sundays,
When time seems to sleep too
Laid on a cozy hammock, you hear its gentle snores
The buzz beneath a pillow;
The birds ‘n’ bees that nestle; the mating in the willow
The slightest of sounds that echoes
Sundays that stretch and space out
Like the sozzled drunkard, who fizzles out
Slumped, slouched, sluggard-
The hangover that hangs over like the laggard
The stillness that only senses the clock ticking…
Its slow, this Sunday is, what streak of lightning
Would wake it up and get it kicking?
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