Isabella’s son Raymond was twenty years old when he wrote this charming poem about the month of May.

Why are bees and butterflies
    Dancing in the sun?
Violets and buttercups
    Blooming, every one?

Why does Mr. Bobolink 
    Seem so shocking gay?
Why does—Ah! I'd half-forgot!
    This is really May.

Why are all the water-bugs
    Donning roller skates?
And the solemn lady-bugs
    Dozing on the gates?

Why do all the meadow brooks
    Try to run away,
As though someone were chasing them?
    Bless me! This is May.

Please to tell me why the trees
    Have put new bonnets on?
Please to tell me why the crows
    Their picnics have begun?

Why does all the whole big world
    Smell like a fresh bouquet
Picked from one of God's flower beds?
    Oh, I know! It's May.

Raymond M. Alden