Tell Me Mother

The weekdays come so fast and thick---Have they a car to reach so quick?

But why does Sunday take so long,Behind the others trudging on?

Has she the farthest skies to cross?

Is her home as poor as yours?

Tell me, mother:

The weekdays are an unkind lot,To go back home they have no thought.

But why is Sunday so pursuedThat she stays half the time she should?

Must she go back to do her chores?

Is her home as poor as youirs?

Tell me mother:

The weekdays come with such long facesNo child can stand such airs and graces.

But when at weekends I get up,There's Sunday with her face lit up.

She starts to cry when back she goesIs her home as poor as yours?