What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade.
I grew out my armpit hair for the summer. It turns out my natural hair colour isn't blonde.
And that sweet city with her dreaming spires, She needs not June for beauty's heightening.
But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?
Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
I do wear a lot less makeup in the summer, definitely - mainly because you've got a bit of a base tan.
And the case of butterflies so rich it looks As if all summer settled there and died.
A wild rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree.
I don't wear much make-up but when I do, I love pink for the summer.
