Sunday Morning

Why do I not speak boldly
from the valley of dry bones?
Why do I not? I am the sin of sloth.
I'm good enough, the way I am, 
to fertilize the lilies on the lawn,
not raise the dead.

Comments

[SeanH]

That's lovely, Gail. Here's my Sunday Morning:

Why did I not mow boldly
on the Thursday of dry homes?
Why did I not? I am the sin of sloth.
It’s been enough, these days of rain,
to fertilize the shame of my lawn.

[gail]

Nice, Sean. I should have mowed Thursday too.

[Julie]

Well, I did mow Thursday, and I've been sick with allergies ever since. I shoulda gone with sloth.

[Scott P]

Good stuff, both of you!

[gail]

Jule, you stay away from them sloths. They look cute and cuddly and all, but they'll rip your guts out with their claws the first time you forget to bring them a cold beer afterwards.

[Julie]

Afterwards? After WHAT, Gail? Is this some kinda Slothback Mountain thing?

[Major John]

That sounds like Jeff Goldstein's armadillo, not a sloth.

[gail]

Little bastard must be incognito.