SUNDAY’S CHILD

Sunday’s child is full of grace
Sunday’s child is fair of face
Sunday’s child is gentle and mild
I was born on a Sunday morning;
I guess I am Sunday’s child.

I became Monday’s child when I stepped out from that grace,
Driven and lonely, I searched hard for my place.
Tuesday found me full of worldly ambition
Ignoring the inner while trying to change the outer condition
So I then became Wednesday’s child, full of woe,
And as the rhyme goes,
Like Thursday’s child, I still had far to go.

When Friday rolled around, I saw that you
Had to grow to be loving and giving
By Saturday it was apparent that to be happy,
You had to love the work
That you did so hard for a living.

But no matter, the lessons lived are lessons learned
And as “childhood grows to childhood”
And day rolls on to another day,
I know that child inside me growing,
Is a sure way of knowing:
The child born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe,
And good and gay.

I was born on a Sunday morning;
I am Sunday’s child.
[1988]