It's probably safe to post this now

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

The sea will swallow us in the end

At the Air and Space Museum

When I was
nearly six my

father

opened his magic

doctor bag:

two

tongue depressors fastened by

a rubber

band;

one flick

of his hairy wrist

and lo!

we invented

flight.

- Linda Pastan