In summer it’s not fair at all
That I should hear my mother call
To say: 'It’s time to go to bed,'
When I would rather play instead.
In summer I’m not tired at all,
And yet I hear her irksome call -
And who would wish to go to bed
When they could play outside instead?
In winter I don’t mind at all
And Mother never needs to call.
For I look forward to my bed -
All playing done, I’ll sleep instead.
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