Sunday MatinsA Poem by BeccyIt is early and dew still adorns, but next door someone is already playing music, the sound spreading, being shared, dissipating the haze of morning. But listen, further out, the church bells are ringing, telling me there is no music save their own; that I need to escape the weekday burden. Momentarily, I practice scales. Hum to the music, watching leaves in self contained rhythm, grass swaying in concert; the sound of birdsong becoming louder as I ready myself. "Time to go mum," he calls, "I'll start the car for you." (his favourite growing up thing of late.) "Nearly ready darling," I call back, coat and umbrella to hand, thinking that even dark clouds and rain are worthy of prayer; on a Sunday morning, when someone is already playing music.
© 2019 BeccyReviews
|
Stats
145 Views
15 Reviews Shelved in 1 Library
Added on November 19, 2019Last Updated on December 6, 2019 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|