May Chasing June.

If we where months, I'd be April's rainy gloom

and he'd be the fresh scent of  flowery may,

he'd take my tears but run away chasing June

as what's left of me, dry's and drains away.

I'd find myself abandoned in the sewer

as he brings flowers to beloved summer

he'd bring along his budding tree's to woo her

as she excepts with a loud shriek of thunder.

They'd blossom into a luke warm paradise

till they're steamy passion births a young July

and with that said, temperatures begin to rise

and love begins to start, dropping dead like flies.

Then a cool breeze kisses her hot summers cheek

and in comes Fall sweeping summer of her feet.