|Orchid, Botanical Gardens, Washington, D.C. 2012|
I woke up this morning to Sophie's humming in her room, but after a week away it didn't make me sigh. I smiled instead and got up. The sun is shining and the sky is blue, as usual, and I'm grateful to be living in Southern California. It's National Poetry Month for all you poetry lovers, and like I do every year at this time, I'm posting the contrary spring poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Some of us get the Christmas blues with all the expectations of joy and happiness. I don't. To tell you the truth, I get the spring blues, and this poem makes me smile, warding off the April is the cruelest month:
by: Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)
- O what purpose, April, do you return again?
- Beauty is not enough.
- You can no longer quiet me with the redness
- Of little leaves opening stickily.
- I know what I know.
- The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
- The spikes of the crocus.
- The smell of the earth is good.
- It is apparent that there is no death.
- But what does that signify?
- Not only under ground are the brains of men
- Eaten by maggots.
- Life in itself
- Is nothing,
- An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
- It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
- Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.