Saturday, 10 April 2010


If August is a wicked month, a seductress who holds out the promise of all sorts of sweet and sensual delights, then April is as poignant as a child alone in the street.

During the course of the month, the winter, in all its barrenness, is such a recent memory that an extra piquancy is lent to our yearnings for better times ahead.

April is the green shoot of hope that we must cling to if summer is to be a real possibility.


  1. John you've got a wicked sense of humor which is not an appropriate comment for this poem, which in itself is a delight, as poignant as a child alone in the street combined with winter barrenness. but I wanted to sincerely thank you for your comment on my little poem because you made me laugh and it gets harder and harder...
    Thanks again.