My Sunday

All by myself, worn out and old,

On Sunday morning, rainy, and cold,

I go to the kitchen, without gloom,

And warm the cold room.

Breakfast I have to make my own,

One must when one lives all alone.

Then I take my pill,

To try to cure my ills.

Now bathed but only halfway dressed,

I must set down, relax and rest.

Is it worthwhile? Once more I ask.

Oh yes I will take courage and complete the task.

All ready waiting by the door for the church bus

To come around the Bend.

The driver kindly helps me in.

Arriving he helps me out again.

I meet with my friends and children there,

We sing and offer up prayer,

And listen to the bible read,

And words of wisdom said.

Home again, my spirits high,

I bid my friends good bye.

I start to the door, then turn and say,

I am glad I went to church today.

Louzell Serratt

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