Is April the cruelest month,
As the poet, himself cruel,
Perhaps accustomed to expect
Or accept cruelty, is known
To have said? He was quoting
Or he was riffing on a poem
In honor of the month, but I
Quote him- not his source,
Perhaps his source as well,
'Wan in April' to quote the
Original, but my more modern
Poet, he saw cruelty in the
Waiting, the expectation of
Renewal, the palpitations of
Spring's generous reawakening,
It's anticipation of bloom
And of boom. April is said
To be the month when young
Men fancy and heads are turned
In the hope of romance, or
Perhaps lust. Can that be
Cruel? Or is it what all the
Talk of the birds and bees
Prepares us for? Is it cruel
Or is it a moment of joy in
Which the blood is surging,
As adventures lie ahead, a
Time when even the old are
Young, ready to bask in the
Sunshine of high spirits, to
Allow our hearts their desire
To fill our head with song
Until we say 'Yes' and bite
Into the peach, humming the
Lovesongs of this time, or
From our youth. April is not
Cruel; it invites the tulips
To peak out of the dark, to
Emerge from the loam, or to
Share in the warmth of the sun
