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April Is A Fickle Lass.
3 Poems On April
April Is A Fickle Lass
April is a fickle lass,
who braids bright crocus in her hair,
of long green grass curled into waves.
She teases us with her allure,
then dances with a winter storm,
whose heavy feet all shod in white
Just cripple her most graceful waltz,
with bitter toes that crush her style,
mid-pirouette, frozen in time.
Till daffodils cut in to play,
their trumpet songs from earthbound pits,
and tulips kiss her waiting lips.
Then once again she'll share her love,
with all who wait for come what May,
and spring off in a lovely way.