Verge of April

Verge of April

Trembling at the verge of April,
         The March wind cries to hear
My footsteps treading down the hill,
         Afraid of nothing; nothing left to fear.

At the time of my departure,
         My head aches to recall
The lilac days when I was sure
         Of good to come in all.

Alone now, silent in the shadows
         Of love unventured forth,
I have lived too long without you,
         Too long without your worth.