Well, time she did as time she does She pa**ed along her way And thorn she crept like a frightened girl Out of the night time’s sway The tin the merry month of May Her solemn fast does learn For spring it sprung as spring it does And put the bees to work And work they must and work they shall For the things to grow For if they don’t, as time she knows They’d wither on the bough And such a shame such things would be
No longer 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 Oh wallow in the drinkless world And wither on the bough Oh what a dusty burden That nectar and the pollen Like Atlas with the heavens On the back of his head What if they should float up And shrug their little shoulders? Well, time, she’d pa** all the same