April, come she will--
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain.
May, she will stay--
Resting in my arms again.
June, shell change her tune--
In restless walks shell 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, Ill remember--
A love once new has now grown old.
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