37 acessos
April come she will,
When streams are ripe and swell 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.