Sweet month of silk, of salmon, and the swoon;
June, what a chance you had—to be your best,
The fighting friend of Freedom in the West!
You could have said ‘I’ll give them placid seas,
Permitting nothing but an off-shore breeze;
Blue days for bombers on the Calais beat,
And not a cloud below three thousand feet;
Comfort for soldiers—safety for the tar:
May has her medals—June shall wear a Star!’
Instead, sweet June, how sadly you have sinned!
Henceforth, you little ****, your name is Wind,
Hail, Gale or Thunder, Cold or Cloud, or Sleet.
June, you’re a quisling; June, you are a cheat.
If there is any trick you’ve left undone
That helps the enemy, pray tell me one?
And yet, in spite of your obscene display,
Oh, what a month—a winner all the way!
This is the song that History will croon:
‘How we Defied the Traitor, General June!’