Oh, May has pleasant breezes
That brush dust from the floors.
But I look to November;
Whose winds beat at the doors.
April mints her timid leaves
And small, green buds unfold,
But my trees freely spend their wealth
In a frantic rush of gold.
And June's a dainty, flirting lass
With her roses and sweet song.
But you can't seduce November;
She just laughs and moves along.