Sunday Poem by Paul Reed

On a dreamy Sunday
The lazy grass refuses to grow,
The river barely supports the hull
The boaters are too tired to row;

Stones in walls face the sun
Hiding their shadowy side,
Coffee cups picked up from saucers
Are drained, put down and set aside;

Meandering inane chatter fills halls
‘Neath Cathedral bells peal and clang,
Floating serenely down on the breeze
From the tower whence they rang;

Pushchairs clatter over cobblestones
Sandaled feet traipse and become burned,
Plans for tomorrow are shelved awhile
Pages in books thumbed and turned;

Peaceful thoughts fill heads
Wars bow down to the pacifist
And for one beguiling moment
Monday doesn’t exist.