In January my heart was thawed,
In February it refused to go still.
In March it saw it was truly flawed
But kept on singing long through April.
May be the month that it was set free
And June saw the days when it couldn’t ever be tamed.
In July it sparked like the fireworks you’d see.
In August it promised to be the source of no blame.
September, it ended.
October, it began to die.
November, when it thought of January and all the months that rhymed
And thus prayed it would survive the Christmas month’s winter.
About the Creator
Em E. Lee
Writer-of-all-trades and self-appointed "professional" nerd with an infinite supply of story ideas and not nearly enough time to write them down. Lover of all media, especially fiction and literature. Proud advocate of the short story.
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