It’s hot I know, but it’s better than cold.
When the leaves fall and change, that’s when my happiness wanes.

I’d live in July or even August, forever if only I could.
Cause when the vote begins. It’s summer that’s ahead in my book.

September I think of airplanes, and I’m too scared to leave my house.
October’s full of ghoulish games, I’m far too old for now.
Blow up November cause the only real winners are deceiving Washington crooks.

December’s too lost for mentioning.
So I’ll end this verse with one simple hook.
When the votes are tallied.
It’s still summer that wins in my book.

January’s blizzards won’t let me forget.
February’s love is one big corporate gimmick.
To the end of March, when life kicks into action.
April’s crosses have been destroyed by rabbits.
May was calm until 2011, when disaster struck a town already forgotten.

Yeah winter can be unbearable.
But spring is usually tolerable.
Still when I stop to ponder.
Summer wins in my unwritten novel.

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