We turn and tilting
Fall into the damp and dark
Rain forests of November,
Here in Seattle.
And come December wet,
The Sun is over the shoulder.
Come January’s promise
The froth is colder,
Into February’s ennui,
And the malaise gray
Of sunless day,
With warmth and light
Too far behind us -
No turning back that way
As to Gods and Moons,
And Makers of Stars, we say,
March, wake up!
From the wet and damp,
The dark and gray
Of sunless day,
Hearken unto April
Come she May.
As April turns towards me,
She twirls, tho slight,
I call to her
She looks back at me.
I ask to dance -
Please, dance with me!
For now I see the sun
Over her shoulder,
As she glances
At the mortal me,
The winds, the winds of March
Press her cotton flowered dress
Against her womanly,
As I ask the gods piously,
As I ask the gods piously,
If these portraits
Of rosebuds and orchids
Are there for me to see,
As I wished for May
The April sister,
Brought life and glee,
As each held hands
From left and right
We turned and tilted
From the long and Winter night,
And bid goodbye
And fare-de-well
Sunshine days
Moonlit nights,
Good wishes upon
A Summer's day.
As the warmth
Upon my pate befell
Hearing June’s
Faintly chiming bell,
Like a love song’s call
Offered up to me -
Another chance, another dance,
Around the maypoles of time
And the wishing wells of destiny.
