Feb could have been a reb,
It is really hard to William Tell,
But if he/she yells that rebel yell,
I would advise to run like hell.

Mar put his/her boots on the table,
Made a mark where she/he not able,
To fix it where no one could tell.

April was sweet as could be,
Drew out the birds and bees to see,
No doubt about her real sex,
Until his drawers reveal the hex.

May was girlish as the moon,
Danced may pole way too soon,
Singing the wrong tune,
Ending up in June.

June was looney as the moon,
Like a wolf she/he would croon.
But do not go out at noon in June,
According to the old Nordic rune.

July was certainly a rowdy guy,
Raised his/her beer mug high.
But from the tenor of her/his voice,
Shemale, clearly, was a sexual choice.

Augie was a sight to watch,
Had no bulge in his/her crotch.
He/she got some augmentation there,
Still looked like a vulva, I swear.

Sept sipped cider through a straw,
Did not sit well with a French craw,
Asked, Do you sip cider by the seashore?
Not since you left me, forever more.

Oct asked the octopus, what color are you?
Depends on my mood, red or blue.
I am a flaming red drag queen, or I am,
Fleeing a suitor in ink black hue.

Nov pride was close to the worst,
Built up to the point of a supernova burst.
Finally got the whole thing cooled down,
Turning the jealousy from laugh to frown.

Dec was left last for one big reason,
Filled full of gluttony during the season,
Could not fit into anything with a fat ass.
Nocturnal preferences without any class.