The Sun rises fast and then hangs looking down,
on the various mornings of one little town.
On school-children dragged unwilling from bed,
by mothers all rushing to get their kids fed,
before chasing them off to the school down the road,
or filling the car with it's chattering load
and driving in packs to the distant high school,
for today it's their turn to drive the car pool
and then, as they wave goodbye to the nippers,
they find that they've come all this way in their slippers.
On the late office worker who runs for the bus
if he doesn't make it there'll be a big fuss
who gets to the office all wringing with sweat
and finds that his boss hasn't made it in yet.
On the stay at home shirker who's pulling a sickie
while fit as a fiddle, just taking the mickey,
and staying in bed to watch daytime telly,
with Trisha and Gabby and that Lorraine Kelly.
On the home coming worker, from nocturnal toil
who sits down and waits for the kettle to boil,
for a relaxing mug that is sweetened and brown,
that ushers in sleep through the noise of the town.
On ancient and elderly, silver haired seniors,
babes and their minders and toddlers and juniors,
unemployed fathers and stay at home mothers,
cleaners and plumbers and gardeners and others.
And over all this, the sun looking down
on the various mornings of one little town