IS THIS APRIL? (Don´t forget the Graduate)

April, come she will--
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain.

May, she will stay--
Resting in my arms again.

June, she'll change her tune--
In restless walks she'll prowl the night.

July, she will fly--
And give no warning to her flight.

August, die she must--
The autumn winds blow chilly and Cold

September, I'll remember--
A love once new has now grown old.