April is indeed the cruelest month: first taxes, and now a
rainy weekend that suggests nothing so much as, "Psst, it's really
time to get to that spring cleaning. And switch out your winter wardrobe for
your summer. And your filing cabinet's a joke." If, like me, you're in
need of a Cure
but don't especially feel like taking your medicine, let W.D.
The green catalpa tree has turned
All white; the cherry blooms once more.
In one whole year I haven't learned
A blessed thing they pay you for.
The blossoms snow down in my hair;
The trees and I will soon be bare.
poem from The Academy of American Poets site
photo credit: eR