Saturday, April 5, 2014



April

April! April! April!
With a mist of green on the trees--
And a scent of the warm brown broken earth
On every wandering breeze;
What, though thou be changeful,
Though thy gold turns to grey again,
There's a robin out yonder singing,
Singing in the rain.

April! April! April!
'Tis the Northland hath longed for thee,
She hath gazed toward the South with aching eyes
Full long and patiently.
Come now--tell us, sweeting,
Thou laggard so lovely and late,
Dost know there's no joy like the joy that comes
When hearts have learned to wait?








April Flower

Bloom for me,
My April flower.
Show your beauty,
I'll take a gander.

The wind scatters your scent
Giving me the feeling of heaven.
You're the perfection i've dreamt,
The one that i've chosen.

Bloom for me,
My April Flower,
And let me see,
Your petals that matches no other.

I know you're not mine
And you did not grew for me
I can only see you again this time
Unable to resist fate's cruelty.

Bloom for me,
My April Flower,
Though we're not destined to be,
Stay in my heart and take shelter.

In my heart, you will not wilt,
You will eternally bloom..
Even if i am burdened by this guilt,
and love is my certained doom.

Bloom for me for the last time,
At least i can call this moment mine
Ignore my reasons that doesn't rhyme,
Show me your beauty that i can't define.

Bloom..for all eternity..April Flower.







Lady April

This day…awoke April
In a terrible mood
If months had bad hair days
Then this one certainly could

This day dawned early
With cold and grouchy demeanor
Obviously having awakened
On the wrong side of her bed

With un-April like winds
That sliced like a knife
And had all the bad manners
Of moody March instead

I like to ascribe to the months
Their own personalities and ways
From the surreal colors of September
To the mild, merry manners of May

But I also respect, and know when to stay
Inside, cozy, warm
and totally out of her way
When lady April is having a bad ‘air day'

I know that the morrow will likely dawn warm and showery
She'll dawn with a yawn and ne'er admit
That she's e'en the slightest bit sorry
April's snits, as you know, ne'er last very long

She beckons us out to warm breezes
To tease us, (and a few sneezes maybe)
And just like the lady she is, and pleases to be
Will never admit she was wrong



No comments:

Post a Comment