April is approaching.
Snow is still around.
The old man winter raped the baby month of March
And slept with her tiny corpse in his deep-frozen hole
He must have thought that sleeping with the spring’s unborn firstborn
Will extend his own life by a matter of a few weeks, at least
If that was the winter’s goal, the old and cunning beast
Had won big time.
To say the least. Because the winter’s still with us
Oblivious to the calendar and our expectations
His snow is all around
So fresh and white, and pure as if it were without reproach
As if it were oblivious to April’s much overdue approach
Please, April, come and purge this place of snow.
Please melt the snow. And let’s move on.
I feel so tired of this winter.
Write to the Fledermaus or post your poem at the Poetry Monster.
White april is White april though it’s still late march. That’s it. White April. So unbelievable. So much snow around.
- Hendrick Avercamp, 1585-1634[↩]