APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A faceless complacency.
We huddled together, lying
Like seeds back-to-back, speaking
Only of growth. Then in a sudden rush--
Sunlight and water -- we sprouted,
And found ourselves different species.
We nearly cried, but no one died.
So we woke up to a great thought:
If we're so different, we really ought
To share the different things we know
And care for one another even though
We're not the same.
We can see can still each other's will
Revealed through fleeting glimpses
Remaining on the edge of thought
Buried deep within the heart.
Shake ourselves awake once again,
We hold on to the nuances briefly held.
"What a sentimental load of trollop," says
The waking voice. Another groans,"I thought it was sweet,"
And throws a pillow. All stir with
Different thoughts in mind, and different words
On lips, still bickering as they rise
To action. There are better things than poems.