(Paul Simon)

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.

Copyright Paul Simon
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