April

The bric-a-brac of breaking bud laces dull limb at last

We dare to dream of mornings unencumbered by ice-cast

Rain-song rushes in minute rivers down the windowpane

The farmer’s step is buoyant now by thoughts of golden grain

For long, too long the fallow lay ensconced in frozen tomb

Until April delivers warmer wishes to earth’s room

There is something quite unrivaled in the attitude of spring

Its stirs the seed in umber deep and wakes our hearts to sing

As earth laughs, ready to embark upon the green and gold

Of dandelions in the park and violet fronds to hold

For long, too long she suffered ‘neath the vexing fingertips

Of Old Man Winter’s gruff caress and purple puckered lips

Our daydreams rush ahead of feet to picnic’s by the creek

Lovers and lunatics alike spill fancies cheek to cheek

A drive ‘neath cherry-blossom trees perhaps or strolling lanes

Of daisy-dappled ditches, wave-washed beaches, grass terrains

For long, too long we floundered knee-deep in the offering

Of Old Man Winter’s happiness before the kiss of spring

Mouths cannot keep from grinning though the sky weeps tears of gray

We know the flowers in its showers are not far away

Where perfect afternoons unfold in sunbeam symphony

And nobody is very old beneath hope’s azure sea

For long, too long we have been entertained by raw requiem

April is the harbinger to those days of which we dream…

© Janet Martin