The Twelve Months of the Year


When January comes, we say good-bye
To the poor old year, who has to die,
And greet with smiles the youngster gay
Who in his place then comes to stay.
No colder month has all the year
Than February, short but drear,
Yet, though his icy blasts may freeze us,
His Valentines amuse and please us.


With roar and bluster, fierce and wild
March, like a bold, unruly child,
So harsh and rude a temper shows,
We are not sorry when he goes.
Fickle April next appears,
Wreathed in smiles, and bathed in tears,
For she divides the passing hours
Twixt sunny gleams and drenching showers.


Then comes the sweet and smiling May,
Adorned with blossoms bright and gay:
In every heart, her tender grace
Secures for this dear month a place.
Amid a wealth of splendid roses,
June her laughing face discloses:
With beauty fullest, finest, rarest,
She of months is surely fairest.


Long are the days of hot July,
Beneath his blue but ardent sky:
Guns and cannons he sets roaring,
And rockets swiftly heavenward soaring.
When August pours his fervid heat
O'er yellow fields of ripening wheat,
Delighted are the girls and boys,
For then they, taste Vacation's joys.


Now the Outing Days are o'er,
And lessons must be learned once more;
Now on apple, peach, and pear,
September lets us richly fare.
Oh, the bright October days,
When woods with fiery colour blaze,
And Indian Summer's golden glow
Makes Nature's beauty fairer show!


November strips the boughs quite bare,
And chills us with his frosty air;
But one good word for him we'll say:
He brings to us Thanksgiving Day.
December, oh, December dear,
We all rejoice when you are here!
You have our fondest love, because
With you comes good old Santa Claus!


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