And Now for Something Completely Different

40 Years in April

It was another April, years ago
 - less than the years it would take
to decide if something will matter later
(if time really does exist)

that time, that April
I was offered forty years
- forgetting time is an illusion, a moment … a whim
as was that promise

April in New England is the same each year
the promise of May flowers
is April’s illusion; a reality
that brings out the fool in all of us

as the native, I believe in April
rendering me the fool
having learned the gift of those forty years
like Spring, was only to last a moment

a moment that springs up
through the green in the snow
and then’s washed away each year
by April’s cold showers

When April returns
foolish illusions spring forth once more
with the promise of May 
 - may it be that wonderful again.

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