Rainy Sunday

Slicked with rain, the church steeple
weeps under the slate grey sky
People wander from the vestibule
Footsteps muffled by puddles
As the priest gladly shakes hands, smiling brightly

There will be time on a slow, rainy Sunday
For hymns and prayers and incense

Window panes glisten with droplets
Yet inside the warm living room we stretch
Like our lazy cat on the carpet, spreading
The newspaper out and absorb every word lethargically
Like syrup

There will be time on a slow, rainy Sunday
For a thick newspaper and bagels

The outside world is  foreign and damp
Cleansed with a soft, chilly spring rain
Yet my love and I, stretched on the bed
Gaze comfortably at each other
Napping to the rain’s rhythmic pitter-pat overhead

There will be time on a slow, rainy Sunday
For blissfully napping and idle daydreaming

There is always time on a rainy Sunday
For wallowing in a sluggish moment
As rain drowns the grass outside your window

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

I have always loved the rain, and I love this!
The repetition of the line, coupled with a different one, is brilliant...and reads beautifully!

My best,
Kelly

[...]

it s wedsneday but i feel already like at sunday. you are wizard with the words i love it

[Jonas]

This poem has a flow of a soft, enchanting lullaby I am amazed to witness. Well done.

[Matching Socks]

Love those rainy Sunday moments. :-)
Another enjoyable read from you.