To My Mother
India
Oh, Mother! won’t you rest awhile?
You’re busy as a bee.
You only sleep at ten o’clock,
And wake up so early, as if you’re a cock.
Oh, Mother! won’t you
come to play?
You work and work and work all day?
And when with guests you’re forced to sit,
With your two hands to knit.
Oh, Mother! are you made of gold?
You never fall ill or catch a cold.
Were you ever child like me,
Fond of play and full of glee?
The sun is sinking in the west,
The sky is covered-rosy red
The birds are flying-all to bed,
But Mother! do you need no rest?
