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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?

Robert Schultz