A a pril come she will,
When streams are ripe and swell with rain.
Ma ay she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.
Ju u une she'll change her tune,
In restless walks she'll prowl the night.
July y she will fly,
And give no warning to her flight.
A august die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold.
September I'll reme ember,
A love once new has now grown old.
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