I am just a poor boy. Though my story's seldom told,. I have squandered my resistance. For a pocketful of mumbles,. Such are ppromises. All lies and jest. Still, a man hears what he wants to hea
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,
