It may rain in May,
It may be winter in May,
You may bury your dead,
It may give your pain away.
But the hope of June,
With a fruitful hand around you,
Helps those alive
to come together soon.
Lighting fires in July
With eyes for life
And ears for more,
Hearing a calling voice.
Sweet August, summer’s nectar,
Harvests its victims soon,
When no one expects it
Stepping through.
September, October,
When everything falls,
In line or away
From nature’s order.
November comes,
Hands and hearts tremble,
We must feed the poor
And lift each other again.
December’s flames
Burn differently,
They light our hearts,
Where we find enough warmth.
A new year greets January,
When old becomes new,
Hope fades away,
Giving time for all to bloom.
February brings new home,
Sisters are born
To lift those that are worn,
And give new ways to shine.
March, April, breaths of life,
Come alive with fun,
Bring all into the sun
To begin the cycle again…
Bánhidai Hanna
