April Come She Will...
April come she will,
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain...
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.
June, she’ll change her tune,
In restless walks she’ll prowl the night;
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight.
August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I’ll remember
A love once new has now grown old.
* * *
...looking forward to spring, summer and early fall.