It is April and to have the light back is wonderful. I am grateful to my friend friend Stephen Pentz for showing me this poem I had never heard before. It's about memory and mortality so it has a place here.
Wet Evening in April
The birds sang in the wet trees
And as I listened to them it was a hundred years from now
And I was dead and someone else was listening to them.
But I was glad I had recorded for him the melancholy.
Patrick Kavanagh (1904-1967)