As May 31 winds down to its last glowing hours, I would like to give a proper farewell to a fabulous month with the following poem:
Nature's first green is wet
Her hardest emerald yet
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour
Then leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief
So June will follow May
Nothing wet can stay
With a little help from Mr. Robert Frost, of course.
In the meantime: bring it, June!
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