Sunday morn

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Our souls wake on a Sunday morn

Budding up with its maker con

The bell chime in a crescendo

Saying a cryptic psalm in piano

Of hymn or a solo lines

Making my Sunday morn merriments.


We pam the word on a Sunday morn

Daring the sun to play the pipe 

Bouncing in places in symphony

Blending the Clergy lyric with the pipe

Piping a sonorous phone


I won't ask my maker money on a Sunday morn

For I saw his angel on this dawn

With forty frosty miles bands of lost directors

Swapping notes in melodious rhymes

As we chants the Sunday morn ode


Ayeni Taiwo

©2022




Photo credit: pexel

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