(P. Simon)
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April come she will
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When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
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May, she will stay,
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Resting in my arms again.
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June, she'll change her tune,
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In restless walks she'll prowl the night;
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July, she will fly
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And give no warning to her flight.
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August, die she must,
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The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
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September I'll remember
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A love once new has now grown old.
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April Come She Will
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| Art Garfunkel |
