A Sunday’s Haze

loftydreams101's

Through the same fogged window panes
Of the night before
The Sunday morn, is the all-seeing judge

The day is revered and empty
A lost fertile land
Amid endless, dust and decay

Seldom I depart,
From my fogged frame of mind

So I backstroke in the haze
Of these heavenly hours

Humbled,
The whole way through

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