April The Nineteenth – a Two-Minute Write

April The Nineteenth – a Two-Minute Write

Oh, April, when will you be gone?

You seem to go on and on, and on;

Endless days, all in a row;

is your time not up,

should you not just go?

Or am I wishing my time away?

Will I be happy between the first

and thirty-first of May;

or will I be frittering those days away, and away?

April the Nineteenth;

but, a speck of sand in my beach of life –

or a tiny grain in my newt egg-timer, which seems a little more

apt for this kind of rhymer.

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