Is April especially inspiring or am I just noticing the multiplicity of April poems because I'm looking for them? I've found another, too long to quote in its entireity but you get the idea from the first two and last two stanza [it's horrible, isn't it to chop up a poem? Apologies.] This is "April Inventory" by W.D. Snodgrass
The green catalpa tree has turned All white, the cherry blossoms once more. In one whole year I haven't learned A blessed thing they pay you for. The blossoms snow down in my hair; The trees and I will soon be bare.
The trees have more than I to spare. The sleek, expensive girls I teach, Younger and pinker every year, Bloom gradually out of reach. The pear tree lets its petals drop Like dandruff on a tabletop.
. . . While scholars speak authority And wear their ulcers on their sleeves, My eyes in spectacles shall see These trees procure and spread their leaves. There is a value underneath The gold and silver in my teeth.
Though trees turn bare and girls turn wives, We shall afford our costly seasons; There is a gentleness survives That will outspeak and has its reasons. There is a loveliness exists, Preserve us, not for specialists.
I'm looking for and haven't found, and may have to write it myself, the poem about older women lamenting the beautiful young men who barely glance at them.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!