Well time she did as time she does

She passed along her way

And dawn she crept like a frightened girl

Out from the night time's sway



But in the merry month of May

A solemn fact does lurk

For Spring it sprang as Spring it does

And put the bees to work



And work they must

And work they shall

For all the things to grow

For if they don't as time she knows

They'd wither on the bough



And what a shame such things would be

No wondrous wine for you and me

No cider too, nor mead nor soup

For us to all make merry



So rot, ferment and decompose

So all the things can grow

Or wallow in a drinkless world

And wither on the bough



Oh what a dusty burden

That nectar and that pollen

Like Atlas with the heavens

On the back of his head

And what if they should falter

And shrug their little shoulders?

Well time she'd pass all the same