Sunday Morning Poem by Donal Mahoney
Sunday Morning
José and Esmeralda are old.
Their music isn’t salsa anymore.
It's the chant they hear at church
on Sunday morning.
Back home José watches Esmeralda
roll her nylons down.
The fires of youth flicker
in the glow of grace and age
Monday, August 24, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: old age ,religion
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4/24/2024 7:24:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
