Tom
And the April rain will come again
As spring shouts out her joy.
And May will blossom through this pain
And I'll miss you, still, my boy.
June's warm whisper in the air
Will trickle through my heart
As summer covers all that's bare
But not what's ripped apart.
And autumn colour will come again
Then winter's chill shall run.
And through the cold and freezing rain
I'll miss you, still, my son.