The month of April features in a variety of poetry - as "the cruellest month", if you're T. S. Eliot, or, if you're Ms Plath, the 18th signified a future lost. Other April-centred poems are love-lorn, whimsical, brutal and everything in between.
To us in the southern hemisphere, April is the middle month of Autumn and a visual marker of the season, a rustling, scented, red gold month. April means the beginning of the dying off and decay that is essential for new life to begin - the year's 'little death'. We plant the seeds that will lie dormant and germinate at the end of Winter.
