Sunday Lunch

Could not mistake the mist a-making

         the drazzle blazing

               of cuckoo singing –


             for good Sunday people.


For good Sunday people, rejoice.

       And join your hands as cuckoo comes.

          Come sing, friends,

              while thoughts between each echo ring.

                And lips that purse have voice.

Good Sunday people, thank each spring.

   For what we gather, make us truly thankful;

     while around the tree we sing. Rejoice.

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