Classic Poem

Once more the trees are tipped with vernal green,
Once more the robin from the branches sings,
Once more the violet in the fields is seen,
And in the woods flutter the blue-bird's wings,
Once more the golden dandelions fill
The meadow as the stars do fill the sky,
And wander I once more wood, dale and hill
As oft I wandered in the days gone by.
It is the month when my dear mother died—
Sweet April! Aye, it is the very day
When, while her children wept her couch beside.
Her gentle spirit passed from earth away.
Sad April! Looking back across the years
Once more my eyes are filled with mourner's tears.