Sunday rain

Sunday morning. Come awake and welcome this new day
The bedclothes thrown, the curtain tweaked but all we see is rain.
The gutters run, the pools are formed, the mud grows from the clay
Yesterday we had such sun - now we have rain again.

Why is it always Sunday that the sky seems made of lead?
Why do we watch the window where the the raindrops form a trail?
And if you think about it, why are we out of bed?
We could watch from on our pillows and see every detail.

Sunday is the day when we just want to take a walk,
Bathed by the sun, enjoying all of nature's song.
On Sunday we could sit outside and drink our wine and talk,
Enjoying garden flowers, knowing it's where we belong.

But the problem we encounter is the rain that falls and falls
Preventing us from going to the countryside to stroll.
So the sun and birds and flowers that to our spirit calls
Are lost and hidden from us leaving just a barren soul.

Lord, I know the rain is needed to help the plants and flowers
But does it really need to fall on Sundays and for hours.
I'll keep on looking out until the sun is breaking through
And then I'll take a country walk and maybe I'll take you!