In Spring, there are many chances
For dances.
Shy flowers
Have powers
Over men.
And when
They open
Words of love are spoken,
By lads who,
Sometimes, say what is true!

In Summer’s heat
Girl’s naked feet
Pass over grass
As they walk
And talk
With boys who
Say words, a few,
Of which are, probably true!

In autumn, young women
Frown
At men who, their
Minds on sinning
Say, “I do not dye
My hair
Brown”.
Whilst women well past girlhood
Employ expensive mud,
In order to engage
With guys, half their age.

Come wintertime
Poets rhyme
And philosophize
On pretty eyes
They may not have.
For the years have passed
And the lad
And the lass,
Are out to grass.