Sunday In Switzerland Poem by Timmy Curran

The buses all run,
although I can't quite say why
Nearly every shop is dark,
under the bluest of skies
The people all drive,
have picnics far beyond
Those of us left to walk,
have nowhere to go and apparently
nowhere to be
C'est la vie, C'est la vie
Always been like this for me
I have my eyes, to behold
and to forsee, many more
Sundays to come,
living in peace, living in freshness
living in boredom, living life quenchless
living in structure, yet living
yet living, yet living