My calendar
Is no more good,
Said Miss Sally
Underwood.

I lent it to
Young Tommy Gates,
That silly kid
Ate all the dates.

January
He ate at noon,
And burped quite loud
When he ate June.

February
What a treat.
Its taste, he said,
Could not be beat.

March and August,
Made him sick
Because he ate
them much too quick.

I told the truth,
I could not lie
I told him where
I hid July.

Tommy gobbled
Up November.
Then, I watched him
Eat December.

April and May,
September too.
I thought at last
That he was through.

But October
He’d not yet hurt.
I guess he’d saved
It for dessert.