Sweet Sunday To Everyone

WAKING IN THE ATTIC BEDROOM

 

More innocently born and calmer seems,

In its soft summer haze,

This Sunday morning, than all other days.

No early footsteps walk into my dreams,

A peace is everywhere

As if the whole created world believed in prayer.

Over the solitary fields of wheat,

And down the village street

And on my folded clothes

Across the chair.

 

~ Frances Cornford

Done