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Recently I was going thru my old papers and I found an unfinished poem I wrote circa 2004 – I couldn’t let it go unfinished so today I finished it up. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside but also makes me long for life to be just like this. I hope it speaks to you too.

 

For Sunday Mornings 

 

A little girl gets out of bed and goes into her parent’s room.

Her younger brother follows her – he loves everything she’ll do.

As their parents lay there talking, sipping coffee mugs.

The little girl and little boy await their daily hugs.

        And everyone is smiling. And everyone just laughs.

        This is what life’s made of. Don’t ever let it pass.

For Sunday morning, they are waking up.

Like every morning, filling their daily cup.

 

The four of them are getting dressed, they’re leaving for church soon.

Dad and Mom have chased the little ones back into their rooms.

They’re helping them get ready, the girl ties her own shoes.

Then she shows her brother cuz it’s something he can’t do.

        And everyone is smiling. And everyone just laughs.

        This is what life’s made of. Don’t ever let it pass.

For Sunday morning, they are ready now.

Like every morning, she will show him how.

 

The little girl is sitting still, listening to the Truth.

The little boy is sitting, but also squirming in the pew.

Their parents hold their hands now, the Our Father is sung.

They sing the praises of the Lord and soon the mass is done.

        And everyone is smiling. And everyone just laughs.

        This is what life’s made of. Don’t ever let it pass.

For Sunday morning, they are refreshed.

Like every morning, they feel blessed.

 

The four of them they head home, to spend their day together.

They’re growing up so quickly, it won’t stay like this forever.

Dad goes and grabs the paper. Mom starts cooking the food.

The little girl and little boy whisper out of view.

        And everyone is smiling. And everyone just laughs.

        This is what life’s made of. Don’t ever let it pass.

For Sunday mornings, they are cherished.

Like every morning, kids and parents.

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