She says her name is Munday,
blushing on the edge of shy,
With her amber highlights flushed,
she nearly glows in the ambiance.
Gently she lays in my hands
As though she were made for them,
and maybe she is.
How she is loved,
Monday quivers, breathlessly.
It sounds like scores of Seraphim
Just like a wounded bird when
I pluck at her heartstrings and
Listen to her sing so clear,
she sighs like the waves on the ocean and her voice,
I pluck her heartstrings again, and
together, how we tremble, anticipating.
Her voice is freedom’s ring.
The sweetest sound in the world and she sings for me.