Sunday, the day of rest, a restless day
For me as I do little but think lots
Or feel lots about things to do or say
Instead I rest and consume and put socks
On radiators. Ladies would be shocked
If they saw all my holy socks and pants
But at least some dust and grime has been swept
And thrown to the winds, where it briefly floats
Then softly, slowly on a hedge it lands
Parts of me back to nature for replay
Some useful carbon for the new idiots
Some energy to fuel some future plans
Sunday, the day of rest and entropy
Ideals remain for now but forms collapse
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