In cold December the wind blew warm.
In January did she no harm.
In February, her icy blast
chilled the earth to hold it fast.
In March she spoke, from within the storm,
to April, for whom this air be cast
and reply there came in silence felt.
None did speak, for nought was spelt
in runes upon the sodden grey earth,
for April’s showers in kindly mirth
did them efface beneath heaven’s vault
no trace to leave of any worth.

How then to say what must be said?
Be glad, rejoice in hope be led –
Another dawn, another day –
In an anniversarial way.