On the horizon the English sun rises
How it strains to control the world
Its yellow light steals thro’ the windows
And settles where angels dare not tread
Lovers sigh; satisfaction guaranteed
Curtains are drawn and music centres come alive
Cold, tired workers creep out of bed
And hurry about below.

The grass below looks green
And the once gloomy buildings shine with yellow radiance
Yet the sun is devoid of all warmth
It is cold and piercing,
Teasing, irritating and hazy
The milkman chatters and clatters.
The postman clings to his worn-out jacket
Whilst upstairs the African girl is awakening
Wearily she drags her drugg’d body out of bed
And slowly pulls it down the stairs
Dazedly going about the usual routine;
Three cups of coffee, on the house
Then back to bed she creeps;
Snuggles  into bed and moans contently
As she hugs her pillow
And dozes off,
Coffee forgotten.
She is far off from the sunny streets of home
Where one must jump out of bed before dawn
– Commanded by the warmth of Africa