April
J.B. Drori
A poet once wrote
‘April is the cruelest month.’
Because it promised
A brilliant rebirth
Of a spring of flowers.
Instead it brought
A time of thunder and lightning,
Whipping winds and hard hail,
Smothering the planet in an opaque fog
And the people in melancholia.
I say look again
And you will see through a rainbow
Trains of fluffy white clouds
Drifting leisurely eastward
In a translucent turquoise sky
Where the sun will rise to warm
Earth’s leafy trees and tickle the plants
To blossom and perfume the air,
To give glorious colors to the eye,
And joy and beauty to the soul.
© 2013 by Jack Bernard Drori
Download printable PDF
A poet once wrote
‘April is the cruelest month.’
Because it promised
A brilliant rebirth
Of a spring of flowers.
Instead it brought
A time of thunder and lightning,
Whipping winds and hard hail,
Smothering the planet in an opaque fog
And the people in melancholia.
I say look again
And you will see through a rainbow
Trains of fluffy white clouds
Drifting leisurely eastward
In a translucent turquoise sky
Where the sun will rise to warm
Earth’s leafy trees and tickle the plants
To blossom and perfume the air,
To give glorious colors to the eye,
And joy and beauty to the soul.
© 2013 by Jack Bernard Drori
Download printable PDF