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A matter of growing old, when we're young it's May Wonderful, beautiful, glorious May Then middle age is like the turning of the year It's September, and finally December comes It's a long, long while from May to December For the days grow short when you reach September When autumn weather turns the leaves to flame One hasn't got the time for the waiting game Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few September, November And these few precious days I'll spend with you These precious days I'll spend September, November with you