The Summer is Passing

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When you meet with the young men early in spring,

They court you in song and in rhyme;

They woo you with words and a clover ring,

But if you examine the goods they bring

They have little to offer but the songs they sing,

And a plentiful waste of time of day

A plentiful waste of time.

But it's a long , long while

From May to December;

And the days grow short when you reach September;

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The summer is passing,

The swallows are massing,

Preparing to leave us again.

The weather’s appalling,

Barometer’s falling,

To warn of the threatening rain.

The roses have faded,

They’re tired and jaded,

The garden is looking quite plain.

The lawn’s a dead loss,

Just all sphagnum moss.

Oh, I wish it was summer again.

Well, yesterday brightened up a bit in the afternoon as I set off to Tyler's Green for their village fair. Took a crate-load of my music rolls and joined Dennis and Doreen for a grind on his organ. Having a turn gives him a rest, as a four hour grind can make the old arm ache.

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I just wanted to point out that all of these ditties and rhymes are not my work.

They are all by that most prolific writer Anon.

If I do know the author I will mention them.

You see......

I am adverse to write in verse,

And as you see, I can't.

But if I could, I surely would,

But as I can't, I shan't!

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