That which slept away
in the warmth of earthy loams
awakens now from the stillness;
from throes of a winter’s stasis.
The clarion of nocturnal and diurnal
voices sing: “Arise April’s muse of folly!”.
The first point of Aries fires the soils;
And the crownings of purple-yellow crocus.
Serendipity shall dance her fertile favors
upon lachrymose skies - to rain; rain; rain
and fill the streams of supple; flow tangible the rivers;
for a fool is never too far from dreams of Spring.
That love and love of love shall seed
the dormant and vacuous gardens
that his one true yellow flower
becomes a love bouquet for April’s fools.
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