= chaucer ---- still it's nice: "When April with his showers sweet with fruit The drought of March has pierced unto the root And bathed each vein with liquor that has power To generate therein and sire the flower; When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath, Quickened again, in every hold and heath, The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun Into the Ram one half his course has run And many little birds make melody That sleep through all the night with open eye (So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage) -- Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage...." i do agree, though: april can be cruel. hope on hope ever spring = promise? promise of the possible, and pain and isn't every day its own beginning? trying, so , to say good morning blue lobelia, take me into something new (now!) nbb
