Oh those Sunday evening blahs!
They sneak up on me every weekend I have to say
Even though I try to be busy, to keep them at bay
It's usually when I go for my Sunday evening walk
The memories of home come through so strongly, they can actually talk
It could be as insignificant as the whiff of a fresh wild rose
Or the passing of a house with a wood burning fireplace I suppose
The sight of drying grass that could be turned into hay
The smell of the hot pavement that reminds me of sand in Northern Bay
I sit in my patio swing and lovingly reflect
On the Sundays of home out on my deck~
Submitted By: Alicia "Celeste" Loughrey
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