April Fool Wishes and Status Messages - Page 4

Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go;
it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.

Science has never drummed up quite as effective a tranquilizing agent as a sunny spring day.

The promise of these fragrant flowers,
The fruit that neath these blossoms lies
Once hung, they say, in Edens bowers,
And tempted Eve in Paradise.
O fairest daughter of Eves blood,
Lest her misprision thine should be,
Ive nipped temptation in the bud
And send this snowy spray to thee.

Spring slattern of seasons
you have soggy legs
and a muddy petticoat
drowsy
is your hair your
eyes are sticky with
dream and you have a sloppy body from
being brought to bed of crocuses
when you sing in your whisky voice
the grass rises on the head of the earth
and all the trees are put on edge
spring
of the excellent jostle of
thy hips
and the superior

Sakura, Sakura.
Noyamamo satomo
Miwatasu kagiri.
Kasumi-ka kumo-ka.... asahi-ni niou
Sakura, Sakura,
Hanazakari.

Dirty days hath September
April June and November
From January up to May
The rain it raineth every day
All the rest have thirty-one
Without a blessed gleam of sun
And if any of them had two-and-thirty
Theyd be just as wet and twice as dirty.

One swallow does not make a spring,
nor does one fine day.

In April, we cannot see sunflowers in France, so we might say the sunflowers do not exist. But the local farmers have already planted thousands of seeds, and when they look at the bare hills, they may be able to see the sunflowers already. The sunflowers are there. They lack only the conditions of sun, heat, rain and July. Just because we cannot see them does not mean that they do not exist.

When April scatters charms of primrose gold
Among the copper leaves in thickets old,
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise,
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
When I can hear the small woodpecker ring
Time on a tree for all the birds that sing;
And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long --
The simple bird that thinks two notes a song.

Late April and you are three; today
We dug your garden in the yard.
To curb the damage of your play,
Strange dogs at night and the moles tunneling,
Four slender sticks of lath stand guard
Uplifting their thin string.
So you were the first to tramp it down.
And after the earth was sifted close
You brought your watering can to drown
All earth and us. But these mixed seeds are pressed
With light loam in their steadfast rows.
Child, weve done our best.

The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dressd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughd and leapd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
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 seemd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

Dropped off
body and mind -
weeding new cuttings.

Spring has again returned.
The Earth is like a child that knows many poems.
Many, O so many. For the hardship
of such long learning she receives the prize.
Strict was her teacher.
The white in the old mans beard pleases us.
Now, what to call green, to call blue,
we dare to ask: She knows, She knows!

The years at spring
And days at the morn;
Mornings at seven;
The hill sidess dew-pearled;
The larks on the wing;
The snails on the thorn;
Gods in his heaven -
Alls right with the world!

Are we to look at cherry blossoms only in full bloom, the moon only when it is cloudless? To long for the moon while looking on the rain, to lower the blinds and be unaware of the passing of the spring - these are even more deeply moving. Branches about to blossom or gardens strewn with flowers are worthier of our admiration.

Break open
A cherry tree
And there are no flowers;
But the spring breeze
Brings forth myriad blossoms.

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower--but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

Just sitting quietly, doing nothing,
Spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the years pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!

Meadowlarks
give lusty cheers
when spring appears
when spring appears.
Buds and seeds
prick up their ears
and blades of grass
show eager spears.
And only icicles
weep tears
when spring appears
when spring appears.

How many million Aprils came
before I ever knew
how white a cherry bough could be,
a bed of squills, how blue
And many a dancing April
when life is done with me,
will lift the blue flame of the flower
and the white flame of the tree
Oh burn me with your beauty then,
oh hurt me tree and flower,
lest in the end death try to take
even this glistening hour...

My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp
air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler
breathings of April; the nights and mornings no longer by their
Canadian temperature froze the very blood in our veins; we
could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden.

For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
the flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

You can always tell its April
By the sound of falling rain
That mystic, mournful music
As it trickles down the drain.
Were told we should be thankful
For the kiss of April showers
As it washes all the grass clean
And prepares the soil for flowers.
Theres another side to April
Which doesnt bode us good,
When that mini, manic maelstrom
Turns the lawn to liquid mud.

Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of springs unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!
And birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last years friends together.

No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn.
April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.

All the wild sweetness of the flower
Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour....
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shown ... and the fall
Of yellow blossom on the grass!
You feel that golden rain?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(both of you tried, in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass....
It will not come again.

Cherry Blossoms, cherry blossoms.
On mountains, in villages.
As far as you can see.
They look like fog or clouds. They are fragrant in the morning sun.
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms.
In full bloom.

In my old home
which I forsook, the cherries
are in bloom.