Oh, the butterflies are flying, And the winter days are dying, And the promises are trying, To be seen. And the turtle doves are cooing, And the woods are up and doing, For the violets are blue-ing, In the green. Oh, the honey bees are gumming, On their little wings, and humming, That the summer which is coming, Will be fun. For the spring is really springing; You can see the skylark singing, And the blue bells which are ringing, Can be heard. And the cuckoo isn’t cooing, But he's chucking and he's ooing, And the doves are simply flying, In the sun.