April, and the showers are falling;
April, and the birds are calling
To their kin of song and feather,
Quite regardless of the weather.
From the ground the cold is going;
Now the violets are showing,
And the constant pitter-patter
Of the rain seems not to matter.
April, and the birds are humming
Everywhere that May is coming;
Plant and tree are not complaining
That this morning it is raining.
All around us there is beauty,
Smiling, faithful to its duty;
And the dandelion humble
Seems too big and brave to grumble.
When it’s April in our dreaming
And the storms of care are teeming,
May we see beyond our sorrow
All the beauty of tomorrow.
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