For what then
is April, if not showers,
but anticipation of
warmer weather and colour.
The thought of flowers
on the tip of my pencil.
Of what then
is a man to speak, if not
of the potential and
fragility
of a world soon to
become undone,
Renewal now
on the tip of my tongue.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

April is Poetry Month
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