April Fool Wishes and Status Messages - Page 3
April Fool Messages Wishes on Page 3 of 13
Updated 9 years ago
Once a day and sometimes more
I look out my day dream door
To see if spring is out there yet
Im really anxious, but mustnt fret.
I see the snow a melting down
and lots of mud and slush around
I know the grass will surely sprout
and birds and flowers will come about.
But why oh why does it take so long?
Im sure the calendar cant be wrong.
Sunshine fills my heart with cheer
I wish that spring were really here.
In many ways April is a kind of down time, shoulder season, off-peak, a kind of gray zone between the big winter events and the promise of summer. So perhaps it is the crocuses, the slightly warmer days, the lengthening hours of light that makes April also about poetry. Popularly conceived of as off-peak, the practice of poetry seems to fit in with the promise of the season.
Hail in the Spring, a start of new beginnings.
Creativity awe-inspiring gives a reason to be living.
Plant life showing life anew, a wonder to be found.
New born lambs playing in the fields, birds nesting all around
People enjoying the sun and the warmth, feeling good to be alive.
Spring gives a purpose to our lives, a touch of Paradise.
There is not any haunt of prophecy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heavens hill, that has endured
As Aprils green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallows wings.
Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring,
you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.
April rain is here again;
Hear it pitter, pitter, patter,
On the leaves and on the trees,
See it spitter, spitter, spatter.
Rain, oh rain, dont go away
We need you for flowrs in May;
Drip, drip, drop and do not stop,
Send a little rain our way.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly -- and Lo! The Bird is on the Wing.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
This I saw on an April day:
Warm rain spilt from a sun-lined cloud,
A sky-flung wave of gold at evening,
And a cock pheasant treading a dusty path
Shy and proud.
And this I found in an April field:
A new white calf in the sun at noon,
A flash of blue in a cool moss bank,
And tips of tulips promising flowers
To a blue-winged loon.