I know its Sunday, but the hours will mot keep
Don’t waste this day in unfeeling sleep.
There’s so much to do, much to see
Birds building nests, although the trees
Stand undressed in the yard.

On weekdays you have jobs to do
This morning, you can roll in the dew,
Drink from a raindrop caught in a leaf,
Wonder at the cicada’s unerring belief
That seventeen years are gone. Why
Would you want the world to pass you by
When you can shout and laugh and cry
Out loud to the clear blue sky?