Sunday Morning coming down with Johnny Cash

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Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I’d smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I’d been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I’d lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I’m wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothing short a’ dying
That’s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I’m wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothing short a’ dying
That’s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

A Kvetching Poem on a Sunday Morning

Sunday morning
Raining and cold
Children still snoring
and it's a wee bit borin

I'm trying to write a poem
But it just ain't goin
I'd like to write Haiku
But haven't done that since high schoo

Dishes are done
Laundrys been started
My beloved feels I'm writing too much
He's so full of huff and such
and he works too much.

Some women knit, watch tv, or go to the gym,
Go to a church and sing a hymn  
This lovely woman likes to read and write
So why do I feel so contrite?

He's away again today
So whom am I left to play
The girls have their friends over
I have my chores that are never ever over

The weather is not to nice
Everything is covered in ice
If I go out I'm sure I'll pay the price
So there you have it
A Sunday morning poem
and this last part does not rhyme at all
I am finished my kvetching
maybe later I'll try my hand at sketching

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Have a beautiful Sunday!

Sunday Morning

 

 

It’s Sunday morning and the house is extremely quiet.  The girls each had a friend over last night and probably didn’t go to sleep until well after midnight.  Chances are they won’t be up until around 10.

I’ve had two cups of coffee and am totally enjoying the peace and the time to myself uninterrupted. The calm before the storm

I look forward to my lazyish Sunday mornings.

We often have BIG breakfasts on Sundays, bacon, pancakes, eggs and toast it seems to be the only day everyone is here to enjoy breakfast together, the girls usually have friends over and it makes it so much more fun and entertaining.

I can hear the  giggling, and chit chat starting already my quiet time is over 😦

Happy Sunday!!