Sunday Morning

Sunday morning, sitting here in thought

Wondering, for me, what life has brought

And what else will my life continue to bring

Still sitting here, this Sunday morning



So many people, I have touched out there

So many people that will always care

But there are those, who do not know me

Those people who touch, and show me



Homeless people who live day to day

No home where they can just stay

Old vagrant with a cold step to sit

Where on Sunday morning does he fit



Woman, unhappy, suffering with her pain

Upset her man, so he went and hit her again

She would leave, but has no where to go

Trapped, for there is no one who wants to know



Black man, at him, they throw stones

Hit him, and break his bones

But he is a man, just like me

That is all that people should see



Sunday morning, and also out there today

Are those children who have run away

Not sure where to go, what they will find

People just turn away, with eyes so blind



Old people who are now living in fear

Living where the police do not go near

Gangs hanging around, on every corner

Treating the elderly without honour



Sunday morning, these words come in my head

Write them down so they are then read

All my words I write down to share

For those that see them, for those who can not, I will care






copyright Chris Smith 2007