Poems about afternoon
Yet It's Sunday All The Time
we came to flesh upon
condemned but just to see
so when 'twas time to see
because it's sunday all the time
so we must meet apart
the perfect, nowhere be afraid
oh what an afternoon for heaven,
not like the dew, did she return
and yet it tasted like them all,
and then i come away,
and then it doesn't stay
life's little duties do precisely
as should sound to me
if others want to see