Simple Sunday Sadness

Simple Sunday Sadness

What makes Sundays blue?

It’s always been the same though

Nothing I can do.


Some pass by like warm blue skies

Others blue and cold

Some fill up with memories

Of stories never told.


Some stay still and hidden

Others rage out loud

Some are very lonely

Some lost in a crowd.


Simple Sunday Sadness

I wonder what I’d do

If Sundays turned out pink or green

Perhaps they’re best in blue.


Blue’s a sign of healing

Sunday a healing day

Perhaps it’s simply what you need

I hear an angel say.



A little poem by me....