Sunday Suit

So spiffy the tie, so jolly the dress of Spring,
to salute Him on Sunday morn', sunny or wet;
the coat of plaid light blue and red lines shine.

The lady-moms, flowery, they too walk smiling;
they dream of tea, cupcakes and hugs with grandma,
so they can play hide and go seek, lunch come and gone.

Like a hive of busy bees, they will scatter around the world,
to be seen in unlikely places, for motor oil, cereal and
a long walk in the park, to play with geese and mud.

Silk skin of a new born son, soon put away and forgotten,
It is misplaced with the seasons, space suit to the next world,
shell of a monstrous scarab mistaken for an angel.