the month of May

THE BEATE

The fifteenth of August,
Warmth ends with a start,
The Assumption of Mary
To His Sacred Heart.

Michaelmas Day,
September skies cue,
To hearken the zinnias
To tone down their hue.

Dusky October,
With Angels and all...
They help us pick apples
And pumpkins in Fall.

November's chilled damp,
Souls wait in the dark,
For prayers from the priest
And a blue votive spark.

Then souls from the dark,
No longer the least,
Rejoice in December...
The garland decked Feast.

White, wintry, snows,
Banquet-hall, earth,
In January celebrating,
Still, His great birth.

February sleeting.
February ices.
St. Valentine teaches
That His love suffices.

Raw-winds of March.
Can we stand it all now?
But we start the long Lent
Which teaches us how.

In cruel April, showers,
Each Station tugs tears.
Then lilies...He rose!
To allay all out fears.

And May calls us out.
And May calls us dance.
And May is all Mary's,
The Queen of Romance.

June, city sidewalks,
Symbols in dust,
Corpus Christi processions
For the King Who is Just.

His Most Precious Blood,
Springs up in July,
In picnic-red checks
Reminding us why,

We're all in His rhythm,
He gives us all reasons,
To incite and delight...
The beate of all seasons.