Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays”

Album cover art for "Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays”" by Chalbert

Chalbert - Non-Music, Literature

Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays”

0 Plays

View ArtistView Album

Lyrics

Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, Then with cracked hands that ached From labor in the weekday weather made Banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, And slowly I would rise and dress, Fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, Who had driven out the cold And polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know Of love's austere and lonely offices?

Rate this song

Rate this song

0/5.0 - 0 Ratings

5
0.0% (0)
4
0.0% (0)
3
0.0% (0)
2
0.0% (0)
1
0.0% (0)

Loading comments...

Credits

Credits Not Found