Sunday Afternoon Poem by David Taylor

Just groovin' on a Sunday afternoon
no cares or troubles to interrupt
the chords that heavens' music struck,
just groovin' whilst all around
moves to that universal sound;
as trees' roots stretch beneath my feet
a caterpillar worms its beat,
sunlight dances through windows nets
to light the dust as it looks for rest.
A cup and spoon as cymbals strike,
the tea pours down unseen strings
that sound like uplucked violins.
A knife meets plates skin
and drums a sound deep within.
A bee flies past and hangs in air
just to see what sweetness
he might find there.
I pick up the cup and sip
and on its returning
to the saucers patient safe embrace,
a biscuit crumbles
and there reveals Your face.