These Country Days

Some like the month of Merry May,

     And some glad June the best;

Some think July, when comes the fruit,

     Surpasses all the rest

But winter, summer, spring or fall,

These country days, I like them all.

Rare August and September joys

     By many are extolled;

October and the harvest they’s

     Are wondrous to behold.

But winter, summer, spring or fall,

These country days, I like them all.

When winter piles his shroud of snow

     O’er winding road and wall

Glad hearts there be who cry aloud:

     “This is the best of all!”

But winter, summer, fall or spring

These country days, their praise I sing.     

Aug. 5, ‘06