Time it was
And what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
April, comes 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.