The sun is up too early,
It should have overslept;
My eyes under mutiny,
Refuses to open yet.

The sun is ever punctual,
If the clouds are not at hand;
Glowing like a rude master,
Goading all on the land.

Wake up! It yells with its rays,
Removing all speck of dark.
My mind revolts tyranny;
And abhors getting up to work.

I mildly listen to my mind,
And like the docile kind;
Get up and follow the orders,
And gently pull down the binds.

The helpless sun being shut out,
Fumes with its face all red.
I haplessly beg forgiveness,
And meekly return to bed.