The Seasons

By Anonymous

With March comes in the pleasant spring,
When little birds begin to sing;
To build their nests, to hatch their brood.
With tender care provide them food.

And summer comes with verdant June;
The flowers then are in full bloom,
All nature smiles, the fields look gay;
The weather’s fine to make the hay.

September comes; the golden corn
By many busy hands is shorn;
Autumn’s ripe fruits, an ample store,
Are gathered in for rich and poor.

Winter’s cold frost and northern blast —
This is the season that comes last
The snow has come, the sleigh-bells ring,
And merry boys rejoice and sing.

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