Sunday with Sinatra

Breakfast in bed, an early morning rise.

Slight chill in the air, orange glow  to the sky.

Soft kisses of love, move your hair from your face.

So pretty as you sleep, heart beats at a pace.

Breakfast in bed, a Sunday with Sinatra.

Pamper you with love, grateful I gotcha.

Love you dearly, light butter on your toast.

So proud, so happy, brag and boast.

Breakfast in bed, propped up on a pillow of down.

Sunday with Sinatra, soft and loving the sound.

Eggs over easy, croissant and coffee.

Breakfast in bed, not trying to be bossy.

After I bathe you, kiss water beads off your shoulder.

Sunday with Sinatra, dreams of growing older.

A carriage is waiting, antique wood of dark.

Clydesdales pull tow , off through Central Park.

Breakfast in bed, a Sunday with Sinatra.

Central Park in the city, grateful I gotcha.

Love you bunches, carriage full of roses.

Let’s eskimo kiss, lightly rub noses.

Breakfast in bed, mimosa on the ride.

I like my Sundays with Sinatra, I want you forever by my side.