Sunday is this bird’s day for resting,
for hunkering down in bed and nesting.
A husband beside for spooning me,
a duvet on top for cocooning me,
a wandering mind inside that’s teeming
with cups of tea and domestic daydreaming.
It’s all right there, I can clearly see
gold-spun plaits glittering in the sunbeam,
a boy’s stubborn curls and grass-stained jeans,
toothless smiles and vanilla ice creams.
No matter how much I plan and prepare,
I am here and they are there.
But I cannot wait for them to see
the wonder they have awoken in me.