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When you meet with the young men |
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Early in spring |
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They court you in song and rhyme |
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They woo you with songs and a clover ring |
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But if you examine the goods they bring |
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They have little to offer but the songs they sing |
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And a plentiful waste of time of day |
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A plentiful waste of time |
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Oh, it's a long, long while |
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From May to December |
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But the days grow short |
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When you reach September |
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And the autumn weather |
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Turns the leaves to flame |
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One hasn't got time |
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For the waiting game |
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Oh, the days dwindle down |
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To a precious few |
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September |
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November |
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And these few precious days |
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I'll spend with you |
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These precious days |
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I'll spend with you |
