At April's Verge Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

At April's verge
Through all my years
I say in emeralds
Crystal clear
It's April I longed most to be
Green as jade and full of shade
And soft and rippling
Water dipping
Out the gourd of beauty's self
How could God give us such wealth
And birdsong most acutely felt.
Wreathe me a wreathe of all the flowers
April is my only dower
Madrigal most fitly sung
Refreshment to the heart;
And rung like a peal of bells so bright
Even in the midnight of the world.
mary angela douglas 31 march 2024