Spring. A great yellow stain.
Forsythias burst and daffodils explode.
Swallows hurry back from Mexico
and are bitten by
the laughing snows of April.


Spring, the smile
of a ninety-year old man
who can't hear a thing you say
yet keeps talking to you nonetheless.


Spring and dreams
have that in common.

David Kowalczyk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/april-fools-2/