Sunday Poem by Anthony Daniels

I'm growing very weary
Of taking in how others think
But today the day is Sunday
And on Sundays we wear Pink

Broken hands fix my collar
Much to my chagrin
Tired eyes rest upon my face
Landing upon my chin

Too often I'm a disappointment
Or so I've come to find
Hurt and cracked and bent and groaning
Eyes now closed and blind

Although the world has crashed around me
I keep my eyes up high
For I have no need to worry
Their words on me are lies

What they think of me is worthless
It matters not what they think
But what matters is that it's Sunday
And on Sundays we wear Pink