I go and visit her
But she is not there.
Someday she was
It was a Sunday.
The sun shone
The c;louds disappeared
Now she has gone
But the sun has reappeared.
Sundays are a day of rest
When run-of-the-mill jobs get done
Washing up pots alone and silent
Sundays were meant to be fun.
Someday it will be Sunday again
Who knows when that will be?
This ache inside of me is now a pain
Now she has gone.