'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.