Is April the Cruellest Month – for poets?

In March the parched larch
might well appear starched.
With May you can play, have your way
and make hay with words.
June has a tune all of its own,
and rhymes with Moon, balloon and croon.
July can fly as high as the sky, while I
Sit by and wonder why April has to have short vowels.
Just trust August to muster a cluster of rhymes.
September, October, November, December:
each of them very nice to remember,
January, February – a salutary sanctuary
whereas April’s a capable wastrel.

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