I love you.
I love you in April,
when the rain and cold weather claims some of your everyday heroes;
It's cold outside, but the warm, tender feeling of the beginning of the season reminds you that everything is new, and full of promise.
I love you in May,
when the grass is lush, and the season is still young and exciting;
May is your favorite month, I think.
I love you in June, and in July,
When the season starts to wear;
It grows old and wise, but never tired; when the nights are long and colorful, you make me wish they'd never end.
I love you in August,
When things begin to take shape;
Extra-innings take on new meaning, the sun beats down - no one complains. I suspect you love August, too.
I love you in September,
When April feels like years ago;
In September you get serious, and I get serious with you, and the summer hangs on by its bootstraps, producing just one more 100 degree game, just when you thought we were done with all that.