Life in the middle of May, If I should ever dare to say,
Is inexplicable and undesirable, tenacious, and muddy,
Lengthy and boring, irrelevant and soggy.
A life in the middle of May,
If I should ever dare to say,
If wicked and wretched and everything in between,
Desolate and disappointing yet there’s a gleam.
A gleam of light, just a glint, just a glimmer
A gleam of the upcoming months I call summer.
A gleam of serenity, a gleam of serendipitym
Poor May, it has little stability
How can go from the pouring rain and mud,
To the blue skies and hot summer sun?
“In less than 30 days”, the kids shall say,
“Only a couple of days until were out of the dreaded May.”
Then the last bell of the school year will start ringing,
And out come the students singing,
“May is over, yippy! Hooray! May is done,
It's time for the long awaited warm summer sun”
Then they’ll go to their houses and to their datebooks
And rip the month of May off its hooks,
And as the paper with the month of May drifts off to the floor,
The kids will trample over it running out the door.
No offense but May is soon forgotten,
And all the joy and happiness there was, to June, it’s now devoted.
The month of May lay there crushed on the floor,
And its dream of ever being loved, ran outside to June, with the kids who ran out the door.