~ Flora Willis Watson ~
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January, falls the snow,
February, cold winds blow,
In March, peep out the early flowers,
And April comes with sunny showers.
In May, the roses bloom so gay,
In June, the farmer mows his hay,
In July, brightly shines the sun,
In August, harvest is begun.
September turns the green leaves brown,
October winds then shake them down,
November fills with bleak and smear,
December comes and ends the year.
