April, she comes

April tantalises with

her promises.

I walked down the hill to work this morning

in brilliant sunshine,

the sky

still tormenting me

with slashes of grey,

reminders of a winter not yet gone.

Yet she comes with

flowers braided in her hair,

skipping through the waiting fields,

barefoot.

With her,

I listen.

To the wind in the grass.

With her,

I look.

At bright yellow flowers

that soon,

will sit on my pink gingham tablecloth.

She comes with promises,

April.

To tantalise.