Monday's Child

Monday's child is full of yawn
When he feels the coming dawn.
The alarm goes off, he shambles there
To turn it off (and does not swear).

The morning is filled with events strange
As the dreamland drifts away its range
And the eyes begin to slowly see
The waking life that's in front of he.

And Monday's child's wife is always there
To show Monday's child that she will care.
If something's the matter, she'll be there to fix it,
And if something's unmixed, she'll be there to mix it.

And though we don't enjoy the morn,
It's not Monday's fault. It's free of scorn.
But morning, or evening, or midafternoo',
I'm glad to spend any time with you.