A poet in a bad mood can ruin a reputation, as T.S. Eliot did for April when he called it “the cruellest month”, adding an extra letter l for emphasis.
I prefer what Robert Frost had to say about April in is his poem “Two Tramps in Mud Time.” Mud time is what rural people in New England used to call early spring, that time of year when the snow melts and dirt roads and nearly every other spot of ground melts into mud:
The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.
Happy April. Read some books of poetry or locate a journal or two. Perhaps the nation could use a National Mud Month as well.
[Thanks to poets.org for the National Poetry Month logo]