On this the last day of April, I am remembering my dearly loved departed ones who were born in April.
Song Of A Second April
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
The men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively,—only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
My Father: William French
11 April 1916
25 March 2002
My brother and I
My dear Aunt Phyllis
15 April 1927
30 April 1988
|Aunt Phyllis and Sally|
My daughter, Julie Ann Christiansen
8 April 1976
29 May 2010