I
May comes in dressed with flowers wild.
It is a pole with ribbons streaming down
Around which children romp and play.
May is, also, blond, cute and mine
For whom, my heart grows ever fonder.
She seems almost an angel, at least to me.
How could I have been this lucky?
II
May is a cream and yellow blossom
That grows an apple you dare not eat.
May is also a word with which to ask
Permission to have almost anything
Including asking Susan for a kiss,
Or Grandma for a piece of fudge.
III
Come! Visit me in the month of May.
The sky is so blue, it aches the heart.
Soft breezes will caress your very soul.
No other breath of air smells as sweet.
Whichever wildflower you most desire,
You’ll find the choicest in May.
Yet, beware, for love strikes quickly, in May.
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