Glory to God for long weekends,
for lattes served by obsequious baristas,
sunnied eggs and bacon with the crispy ends,
for an empty park in front of the cinemas.
To she which gives us rain on shaggy lawns,
all glory given, by which we fail to set
the alarm, through sports drop-offs at dawn,
for hungover Saturdays, Fridays without regret.
Glory, glory to unexpected football
games telecast on free-to-air, for heirs
who suddenly decide to wash the car, for all
enlightenments filling each sudoku’s squares.
For golf, for ambling promenades, we praise
Her who gave weekends to punctuate our days.