growing old

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.