April Again

By Abigail Cresson

Though April on these hills shall set her seal,

Though mad Spring comes in whirling skirts of rain,

I shall be silent as an empty house,

And what was beauty to me will be pain

Hepatica may push through rotting leaves;

And though I know so well just where to find

The first white arbutus, I shall not go…

I am not deaf to Spring, nor dumb, nor blind;

But there will be a hurt in April now,

And I shall find it hard to bear this year

When trilliums come drifting in like snow

Along the hills we love…and you not here.