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