Look at this! Another April has arrived, bringing another Poetry Month.
Caught between time-zones, I've been a bit woozy and tired. A part of me is so thankful to be back in New England for Spring - this is the place to fete the season. Feel though that I'm missing something, that I've left something behind, though. (Perhaps it's just the Jet-Lag.)
From you have I been absent in the spring... (Sonnet 98)
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him,
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
- William Shakespeare
Happy Spring, Happy Poetry Month. Maybe with a bit of time, that rhythm (or whatever it is) I've lost will find its way back.