Sunday by Ann WoodI gather dreams on Sunday.
I don't need a moment to rest.
Like small, strong bees
I work tirelessly. With a smile.
And I love Sundays.
Whole wonderful fields of love
waiting for me. Grab them. With eyes
to look at the sky.
Only we can do it that way.
Only me, many myself and dreams.
I just raise my hand to God
and I touch my world differently.
Then I come in longing and shouting,
as long as I'm trying to grab my life,
but with good, with hope and in an instant,
a moment of eternity welcome happiness.
I make dreams come true on Sunday.
Even the Lord, dreams on a Sunday.
And all the other days ...
No, I'm not sleeping. I make them happen.
And I live.
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2020-03-24 at 00:08
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