Sunday Poetry

Inspired by Frost on a Sunny Morning

The sanctity of our Sunday comes in the
Nature of it usually being unscheduled.

Deciding this particular morning that,

Newspaper perused, housekeeping should be done,

Since it had gone wanting for a while now,

Dust rag in hand, I set to put things in order

And remove the residue of the past weeks.

On the bedside table, my volume of Robert Frost 

Called to me. I make an effort now while dusting

To sit on the edge of the bed and open to
An unsellected poem, and take a moment

To read and reflect on some scene Mr. Frost 
Has so eloquently drawn with his words.

Upon doing so I was inspired to wax poetic
Slow down my hustle of housework, 
And feed my soul.