| 3 o'clock Sunday Lazy clouds drifting past, the pool of sky, Peaceful eyes, half closed, watching grass Sway in the breeze, The glaring sun peeks, through the trees, There is no tomorrow, only this, MOMENT, Today, in the coolness, of spring, summer, winter, fall, there is no more to see than Monday. Just more time, to see it If I look up and see, a squirrel, on a telephone wire, or a bird, gliding through the air, and I watch it, until I cannot watch it anymore, Then I know, it is 3 o'clock Sunday. |