To April
A lullaby of lemon-light.
Days a procession of mellow yellow:
primrose, daffodil, saffron sun.
Easter chicks and bonnets when I was young.
I loved you then; promise of something brighter,
something new.
Dawn birdsong. Days jubilate into chorus.
Dusk serenade of sultry jazz,
blushing, blazing solo moon.
Applause of stars. Venus as wingman.
Inside, I'm singing (dancing too).
You dear are a balm after winter's harsh sting.
Honey bees alight in a dark cave,
dreaming of summer nectar.
Sustenance. Warmth and vigour.
Impressionist dots of buds on trees.
A flurry of lime-green daubed
by a giddy artist's hand. April giggles,
runs ahead, barefoot on new-green,
daisy chain in hand, dreams in head.
Floriferous fantasy.
Such softening. A dissipation
of everything that is tight.
April ruffles her hair and the breeze
is a rush of gleaming gold. Brazen rebirth.
Transformation complete.
The child of the year
hope shining
like cuckoo flowers at morning
lilac and wistful with dew's soft kiss,
day ahead a daydream
a mirage of youth
a wish for future mirth
a dandelion seed
airborne
a smile
the first thing you feel;
your newborn heart
alive now,
all the flowers
blooming.
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