NaPoWriMo Day Four

April is the cruellest month, breeding

lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

memory and desire, stirring

dull roots with spring rain.

T.S. Eliot – The Wasteland – I. The Burial Of The Dead

I love T.S Eliot.  My collection of his work is currently leant out to a friend which meant I had to google this poem, but his writing is something I find myself amazed at over and over again.

Today’s prompt for NaPoWriMo was to take the first line of this poem and write our own about which month we think is the cruellest. At the moment I would say that April is perhaps the cruellest month. Now normally I don’t bring politics into my poems, but I thought I would give it a go today.

Facing The Spring

It’s an undercurrent,

a muttering,

a rip-tide lurking beneath the surface.

This talk

has been around for months.

Spring brings up

more than just the daffodils.

This job was his life.

This job his father’s life.

His grandfather’s, his great father’s,

those men who came before

and worked to the bone

to build something for the next.

He must now face the Spring.

The possibility they might not survive

to see the milk prices rise

or his children take his place.

And all that will left

are empty parlours and empty fields

and empty hearths

where generation, after generation

came in to hang their hats

and laugh by the fire

once upon a time

when days were better.

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