April's Return

The first line of the poem, Spring, by Edna St. Vincent Millay seems unusually poignant to me this year. Are the blooms and blossoms sprouting everywhere in PA truly insufficient to the larger goal?

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

I took time to smell the roses, and the jasmine, and the hyacinths today at Longwood Gardens and it seemed lovely enough to me.

Today's MUCH: It's really quite stunning here, and the Italian Water Garden was open.

Today's SUCH: The Combat Methamphetamine Epidemic Act of 2005 SUCKS. I have to sign my life away every time I buy sinus meds which is OFTEN. Bastards.