‘Tis April again, with snow on the ground, and the birds singing low at the sill. ‘Tis April again, the air is blue black and there’s ice at the top of the hill.
But…’tis April once more and the chill at the door will be gone by the end of this day.
For the moon has turned over and the yard breathes of clover and daisies are soon on the way…
690 Saint Paul 