Sunday's magic will soon unfold,
With books, tea, and fireplaces.
The sun glints through my reading hole,
And brightens up hidden spaces.
Oh, boiling my hot tea goes.
Spices and honey fill the room.
As aromic smells guide my nose,
Warm sensations begin to bloom.
Snapping, the heat begins to roar.
Flames lick the log and grow in size.
My toes once cold are cold no more.
Radiant gleams light up my eyes.
Sunday's magic is gone so fast,
But is here in future, in past.