Sunday’s Flowers begin their work
Early in the morning as they put out
The week’s tormented trash groaning
With grouses and grey, greasy puddings
Of penance over silly shopping and too
much Netflix! And not enough walking!
Not enough gardening! They nudge you
Into that book on dreams waiting to
Enlighten you about your newest
Choice or mad mistake, and then they
Insist you fill up five rose engraved
Pages of your journal of fresh renewal!