THE MONTH OF MAY
It comes just after April,
And right before 'tis June;
And every bird that's singing
Has this same lovely tune:
You needn't ask your mother
To let you go and play;
The very breezes whisper,
"You may! You may! You may!"
There are no frosts to freeze you,
And no fierce winds to blow;
But winds that seem like kisses,
So soft and sweet and slow;
The lovely sun is shining
'Most every single day.
Of course you may go out, dears—
It is the month of "May"!