Sunday Morning Melancholy Poem by Ashley Burns

Every now and again, I awake unprepared
To Sunday morning melancholy that hangs in the air
Where arms once wrapped around me, tenderly, with care
My comforter gives little comfort and no warmth to wear
Your pillow lies empty - extraneous and spare
No handsome face returning my once-dreamy stare
I still read the news; something happening, somewhere
Find some music to play so my place seems less bare
I make myself coffee, curl up in a chair
The routine's the same but I cannot play unaware
That, though most days are fine,
Sunday morning melancholy despairs
Mourning the mornings that we used to share