Sunday

There was a time when the pace of life was slower. The Foureyed Poet.

The Foureyed Poet

Sunday use to be the day of rest

all was quiet wherever you went.

Little or no traffic then not a pest

every one was full of good intent.

Peace and quiet the family together

simple pleasures lasting forever.

Nobody rushed it was a day to unwind

aroma of dinner was always around.

A snooze to digest and chill the mind

precious times to enjoy was found.

Laughter filled the house on this  day

after tea time for games to play.

Life has changed to a much faster pace

no moment to waste today it seems.

Rushing work and play like a race

relaxation is only in their dreams.

Not happy with cards or leisurely walk

or get together and simply talk.

Those times now just part of our history!

The Foureyed Poet.

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Published in: on 10/08/2014 at 22:07  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. It does seem that way! I have somehow managed to keep Sundays pretty lazy in my house. I grew up as you write about and still love that Sunday feeling. Sunday nights? That’s a whole other feeling!

    Like


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