Classic Poem

August had three sisterns,
Name of April, May, and June.
When he came to slake his thirst,
One would ladel him a spoon,

Of water. His three sisters,
Knew the coming of the moon,
But August in his whispers,
Knew a joyful little tune,

The daughter, of his neighbor,
Sang when she was all alone,
And heard her at her labor,
As he passed her way to home,

At dusk, the streaming vapors,
In keening, Godly litany,
Curling, cut their capers,
In the forest by the sea,

Of which she sang, don't ask, shy
Little August, knows the rune,
For he will only sigh, and say,
"Go ask April, May, or June."