My circadian rhythm is in reverse.

I am awake at night.

In the morning, I sleep tight.

Remember Sunday,

it gives me a sense of rest;

a feeling of complete zest.

Remember Sunday,

as the week starts to roll,

we are about to climb up a knoll.

Remember Sunday,

the stranger on the street

flashes a smile showing her teeth.

Remember Sunday,

a cup of hot chocolate;

an apt to oscillate.

Remember Sunday,

as the sermon becomes luculent,

perhaps life would be less turbulent.

Remember Sunday

and how it sustains

when all else no longer remain.

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