“The week ends, on a Sunday, a silent or a stormy one, that is up to you, really” Gun Roswell

Just a Sunday

Early morning, birds outside the window screaming
Yes, it is definitely a Sunday, no peace for the one in dismay
The mere thought of calmness felt tingling, just last night while beckoning
For the end of the week to be arising, the one day for smiling
Alas, it was for nought, not at all what I had thought
A quiet day, seated, just, by my good ol’ self
But then, the doorbell rang, and someone in the shower sang
The kids in the streets, yelling bloody murder
Even if it was just a game of something blurred out there
Then the phones, yes plural, went off
All of them, there, on the table in a neat row
Always someone out there wanting something to be done
Just because, hey, it was your day off, right? Not reserved for fun!
As the morning turned to noon, which by the way, came too soon
The after hours after that, turned out to be just as bad
Finally the evening lurked around the corner
I saw the sun starting to set, just looking out of border
The whole day of Sunday spent, not in peace and quiet
No, but like a circus or some other type of crowded event
I know I should not be complaining, just and simply explaining
Never plan ahead too much, because you’ll end up doing much too much