In the shadow between sleeping and waking I heard myself reciting:
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour
Then leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay
And then I heard the voice on the scratchy recording and briefly felt myself in an uncomfortable desk --2nd one in on the front row. From that desk I transported to the Wasteland--the image I've always held:
The low brown hills.
The blood red sunset.
The hot sand.
The swirling dust devils.
The stinging in my eyes.
Begrudgingly I awoke. And peered out the window and saw my tulips shielding themselves from the snow.
April is the cruellest month.
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I had no idea how heartbreaking Frost's poem is back when I was doing forced explications in high school. Now it makes me a bit teary every time. I mean, there's the wistfulness of mortality in a single line, innit?
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