"Sunday's Child"

In fields of golden splendor
amongst the wheat and grain
of the artist's brush;
the scent of wet denim and cotton
after a day at the swimming hole.

Sunday's child gathers wildflowers
to carry home to Mother;
the essence of the outdoors
she can longer get up
to see on her own.

Through the rows she dances
hair blowing as she runs along
hoping her clothes will dry
for she doesn't want Mother to know
she's been seeing him again.

"Stay away from the swimming hole
where the rough boys play"
she can't bear to tell her Mother
it's too late for that,
fifteen summers long for love.

Sunday's child takes the long way home
his kisses disappearing on her skin
her clothes almost dry now
from where he playfully threw her in
only to "rescue" her moments later.

Floating peacefully on the water
head and shoulders above the surface
held up by his strong arms
as if he were the lily pad
and she the frog become a princess.

Wistful smiles & recent memory
tucked inside herself,
she arrives home at last,
hoping Mother will not suspect
her love for the boy again.