Nectar of a crimson honeysuckle stings
my tongue,
as a bumble bee flies by me.
Amber roads stain my toes,
yet I run through time unwittingly.
Oh but a Sunday afternoon.

Mama’s perched on the front porch
Humming a tune,
as the birds chirp in reply.
I twirl to my own jubilee,
while papa smiles near by.
Oh but a Sunday afternoon.

Carried away by the breeze, my checkered dress
dances through the air.
Corn husks crackle in the distance, composing a most
lovely melody for a song.
Oh but a Sunday afternoon.

Flower petals rest in my caramel hair,
and I wear nothing but my heart on my sleeve.
Mama sips her on chamomile tea,
while papa smiles near by.
Oh but a Sunday afternoon.

Together, we watch as the sun and the grass
have a kiss goodnight.
My eyelids fall gently and I feel warmth hold me
close, and hold me tight.
Oh but a Sunday afternoon.

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