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