April -

VIII April

Today was a day of cold spring showers
Between bouts of sun; the fine, literary weather
We used to have so often, some Boris
or other bidding farewell
To Nastasya; Lisbeth, Priscilla,
Jane hastening back to the vicarage
Lest their taffeta crumple; a young man and a bicycle
Posed on the puddled lane. These days are rare lately,
And I remember college girls who declared
They loved to walk bare-headed in the rain.
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