When you meet with the young men early in spring
They caught you in song and rhyme
They woo you with words and a clover ring
But if you examine the good they bring
They have little to offer
But the songs they sing
And a plentiful waste of time of day
A plentiful waste
Of time
But it's a long, long while
From May to December
And the days grow short
When you reach September
And the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to flame
And I haven't got time
For the waiting game
For the days dwindle down
To a precious few
September
November
And these few precious days
I'd spend with you
These golden days
I'd spend with you
These golden days
I'd spend
With you
