April Is the Cruellest Month

(After T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”)

by R. S.

April is the cruellest month,

Harbinger of hope, summer’s prelude;

Springing daisies, springing lilacs,

At best a fleeting interlude.

For hope ignites a sweltering fire,

And turns to ash sweet content;

April begets whim and desire,

In hearts wallowing in lament.

It saddles yearning to the heart,

When fleeting is its innate nature;

April is the cruellest month,

With fickleness as its signature.

© R. S.

R.S. (she/her) is a denizen of Delhi, India who writes Poetry to find harmony in life. She had fallen in love with versing during her days as a student of literature. She rises early to feel inspired with the morning star and create new rhymes.

Find her on Instagram at @thepoetrywindmill.

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