Oh, May should be the bridal month,
When blossom showers bless the riotous undergrowth
with all their white confetti,
When ladies’ lace embellishes so delicately
every green-leaf tapestry,
And every flower-sprinkled verge
presents a meadow-fresh bouquet.
So—May, don’t be a blemished month
Of dull, swift-barren skies, opaque and blankly grey
that overlay each vista,
When dandelion ‘clocks’ appear so suddenly
disfiguring each unmown lawn,
And every drifting seed already
presages the summer’s end.
No—May, be our most blissful month,
With rising sap and surging energy erupting
in a foliage frenzy,
When sun-kissed dew so sparklingly embroiders
every dancing leaflet, frond and blade,
And every verdant woodland trail
resounds with songbird revelry.