I forgot to share my favorite April poems.

TS Eliot wrote: "April is the cruellest month, breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." From The Wasteland

This sentiment is echoed in "Spring" by Edna St. Vincent Millay:

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

"Memento mori" means "remember that you must die." These poems remind of this: even though the sun returns and the plants revive, life feeds on death and with the lilacs spring from the "dead earth" which will die again when winter comes.

On that note, I am going out to get ice cream.