Summer’s Sunday morning trickles into life
As the sun shimmers through the tired trees.

Dew drips from the waking grass
Onto the course crust of the loamy soil.

The crisp sound of the swelling tides is eased
By the tiresome swish of a lazy breeze.

Sweat slides down a flustered face
While the scorching sun stifles the pores.

Ice crackles in a glassy cage
As refreshing fruit juice flows into life.

And deckchair viewers watch while runners scythe
A grassy field as a goal tickles an empty net.