Sunday morning just like the rest -- bacon, eggs and sausages -- Sunday's breakfast.
But I couldn't smell those smells walking down the hall.
Familiar smells -- I knew so well -- ready to enthrall.
Into the kitchen I entered, and there my father he sat.
With tears in his eyes, he looked into mine and I knew then that was that.
That is when I thought I heard -- my mom call my name so clear.
How can that be? I said to me -- sotto voce.
Into dad's arms he gathered, me so tenderly.
He brushed the tears from my face and whispered these words to me.
"When troubles seem unbounded, and walls are caving in, when everything seems hopeless and consumes you from within."
"No matter what may happen, from this day foward on -- you will always have a place called home -- forever that my son."
No Sunday everlasting will be like those of past.
No bacon -- eggs -- no sausages -- No Sunday's breakfast.
© 2010 Rennie Murrell