Now, in April, when lilacs shake

in gusts of rain, the crown-like buds

Waving thick and green on sceptre tips,

I ask myself: What have we been.

We two curled tight in winter’s dark?

And when lilacs fully unfurl themselves.

Their heart-shaped leaves.

Their fragrant towers, purple or white.

Then what will we be

And what can we do as recklessly?