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?