April

The cat resigned to stay inside,
staring out from his cushioned settle,
following a fieldmouse with his eyes
until it merged with the moss and pebbles.

The thirty-first was dull.
March had come in like a lion
and gone out like a discouraged one,
leaving April to be defiant.

It will still be spring for a month.

Time for the sun to touch and rouse

flagging spirits and feared outcomes,

making things right, turning them round.