Those golden Sunday afternoons
Hours free, no chores to do
Stretched lazily away until
The clock brought me back to

Endless chores and work to do
A hard life, farmer's child
But work that helped the family grow
A small farm, green and wild

Pick up a book, go for a walk
On Sundays, there's a choice
Listen to birds and windsong
Or get lost in a writer's voice

Walk down the highway, go to the store
Two and a half miles away
Buy three licorice for a penny
Find a quarter along the way

Or round the block, only four miles
Of dirt roads, quiet, peace
Give up my soul to God and Earth
Let my cares release

In rain or shine and sometimes snow
Out walking all alone
Nature's beauty all around
No TV, no telephone

Essential building blocks were these
Wouldn't trade one golden Sunday
Or take all the money in the banks
For fond memories of yesterday

©Alice C. Bateman & Donald R. Tietz
Sunday August 8th, 2004