Sun of Sabbath

In winter come the butterflies,

Fluttering their yellow wings,
The blue skies grinning wide tug at the wild wind,
Sun, the mischief maker slowly walks across the clouds,
Through the doors of open minds and windows of laughing eyes,
The freshness of dew sneaks in like clever thieves,
Stealing away the knots in the shoulder, the pain in the neck,
The chatter of the mind and the bitter week that went,
Singing, dancing, a little mad in the head,
The restful activity of the mischief mornings,
Belong to the benevolent Sun of Sabbath. 

Photo  courtesy - The Song Of The Sufi Masroof