Each year I remember less
And am therefore more surprised.
Was the earth this black
Were the hues of the budding trees
So many shades of green?
And the birds, everywhere.
Could I parse their calls as now?
Was I always so dazzled
By blossoms of cherry and pear?
Did daffodils fanfare like this
Trumpeting their colors vibrantly, violently?
The smell of warm rain
Pollen stinging my eyes
And the sneezing
Were you always so wonderful
Fruitful, fecund, fertile?
Open my eyes to see
My soul to believe.
Imprint you, April.
Imprint you in my memory
And on my soul.
© 2012 Forrest A. Hainline III
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Comments about this poem (April by Forrest Hainline )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
Edwin Arlington Robinson
(22 December 1869 – 6 April 1935)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
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- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
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