Creativity Tips: My Truth Ain't Your Truth

OK. Fine. For all of you* who pointed out that April isn't the loveliest month everywhere, you're right. It's not even a question of perception -- the April weather really has been rotten in a lot of areas this year.

So, in honor of your truth and National Poetry Month, here's a different take on April:

Spring

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To 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,

April

Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Edna
Clearly not enjoying the spring of 1914.

*Yep, Amber and Bud, I'm talking to you. :-)