I miss you most on Sundays, 

When the crisp morning air caresses my face

And God kisses me with the morning sun.

 

I miss you most on Sundays,

When I pour the tea for one

And I playfully touch the spoon upon my tongue.

 

I miss you most on Sundays,

When musical melodies rule my heart

then my head joins in and they briefly move as one.

 

I miss you most on Sundays,

When the evening grows still, I whisper your name

And the sun is now gone.

 

I miss you most on Sundays… 

 

–Keishel A. Williams