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
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
A Little Madness in the Spring - Emily Dickinson
A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King
But God be with the Clown -
Who ponders this tremendous scene -
This whole Experiment of Green -
As if it were his own!
I shall ponder with you the madness of spring (and in Edna's case the decision to use the word maggots in her poem) as I rest my weary bones (from garden projects) in a patio chair.