The poem for the day is by Edna St. Vincent Millay. [Yes, yes, I know, a rhyme does not a poem make]. Since Edna M. was far from a sentimental person, when she wrote a poem called "Spring" she gave us something to chew on.
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty if 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 this signify?
Not only underground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
an empty cup, a flight of uncarpetted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
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