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.