Minutes make an hour, hours make a day; Days make months and then a year as time goes on its way. April has a birthday and blooming spring as well; June is time for marriage with announcements in the mail. A concert in the part, a folksy sort of tune— We get that thing in August, and then we’re back to June.
Out of the darkness comes the sound— A scraping and gnawing and scurrying around. Damage and destruction is all he makes, He never gives but always takes. In the shadows and corners he will hide, A tiny field mouse that snuck inside.
Around my heart with anger, I built a hardened shell; And planted thorns of bitterness to further guard it well. Then sat in smug depression as the persons passing by, Unable to ever reach me, no longer stopped to try.
February’s meant for couples— Roses and romance, And looks that say “I love you,” Exchanged within a glance. But what if I don’t fit that mold? It doesn’t quite seem fair; Are loneliness and heartache then, All that I can share? “Oh, no,” cries the wing-tipped cherub, “Please don’t think so small. Love’s not just for lovers; Love is meant for all!”