Sunday Dinner
Coming home from church, I run upstairs to change my shirt,
Take off my pants and shoes, and start thinking about dessert,
My mouth waters, I hear my mother and father deep in laughter,
I move faster, get downstairs for dessert, my mother says after,
I can feel my taste buds yearning, for the brownie I'm deserving,
My stomach in which I'm concerning, feels empty and is growling,
I walk back upstairs unsatisfied, a small cookie they can't provide,
The room where I reside makes no collateral for the hunger inside,
The aroma arose, tickling the small black bristles within my nose,
I start to feel cold, unbold, knowing that food is a part of my soul,
Fried Chicken, colegreens, macaroni and cheese, I'm just reminiscin',
On last Sundays dinner, I almost hit the ceilin', I could eat for a livin',
Another smell came, almost lifting me off my feet from where I stand,
Then I suddenly acted as a barbarian and started biting on my hand,
I couldn't stand it, the wait made it undearable, I'm losing patience,
My teeth clench, and my body starts to feel tense, I'm losing sense,
I'm about to lose my mind and from all this, I eventually began to cry,
Then my mother called up to me a beautiful one word line, Dinnertime,
I ran downstairs with the utmost joy, this food I will be sure to enjoy,
I ran past the rest of the boys even on my barefeet and corduroys,
Those were the days, and to this day, I give my parents all praise,
What can I say, they fixed us dinner with all the stress, hair gray,
From the month of January to the month of December, I remember,
There was no time better, than sitting with family at Sunday Dinner,
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