THIS FOURTH MONTH

APRIL TENDERS A CERTAIN SWEETNESS

It was in this fourth month

I thought that maybe

This time it would be different

No tease of earth's humid breath

Gulping in the dappled sunlight

Only to have it steal away

And smile sweetly

As the damp vapor

Pauses by the primrose.

Yellow tenders the favorite color;

The first and sweetest blush;

Far from shorter days

To ones that stretch lazily

Between the grass and sky.

Can you hear the blackbirds hum?

Or the green grass as it lengthens and bends?

Don't you dread the promise of the sundrops leaving

Shortly after they've tickled our resolve to adore them?

Still, the richest certainties

Are those of the fourth month

Surely spreading its beauty somewhere else

If not here...

Of expanding earth's breadth

In the most fantastical manner.

poem written by L.P.G.