'Tis Saturday morn and all is bright
        By nature's own endowing;
    The sun is fiercely giving light,
        And only me--
            Plowing.

    Across the river I hear the sound
        Of a boatman slowly rowing;
    I have no time to fool around,
        Especially when I'm--
            Hoeing.

    And when the dinner hour has come,
        And thoughts of work are fleeting,
    I only hear the insects hum,
        Because I'm busy--
            Eating.

    At night when all things are at rest,
        Safe in Old Morpheus' keeping,
    No troubles do my mind infest,
        For I am soundly--
            Sleeping.

This poem is in the public domain.