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by Eliot Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Relationship · #471357
"The Wasteland" begins, "April is the cruelest month." Here's why.
Verge of April

Trembling at the verge of April,
         The March wind cries to hear
My footsteps treading down the hill,
         Afraid of nothing; nothing left to fear.

At the time of my departure,
         My head aches to recall
The lilac days when I was sure
         Of good to come in all.

Alone now, silent in the shadows
         Of love unventured forth,
I have lived too long without you,
         Too long without your worth.
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