come sunday

When I was a boy Sunday was always as bright as a bell
and there were no clouds at all.
Today is Thursday come Sunday; the temperature is four
degrees and the sun has just turned the frost to dew; all is perfect.
Earlier this morning I looked out the window and noticed an angel
extending three miles in the sky, floating like a vast golden column. On
recollection, his face was expressionless, beatific like the sun.