Dear April...a Love letter of Relinquishment

For today's Two-for-Tuesday prompt:Write a The End poem, and/or...Write a Beginning poem. One evening as I listened to this glorious piece of music below... ....it seemed as if it played the heart of Apriland I began to pen an April love song that was never completedThis April, my joy as been visited by its inevitable counterpart; sorrow💔  calling to mind these words of oldfrom:1-4There is a time for everything,and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die,a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal,a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh,a time to mourn and a time to dance,...***Sorrow makes sweeter every joy.It makes sacred every opportunity to loveIt rouses in the poet a meeker awarenessof the potency of ink enduranceand the voice that spills from a page long afterthe breath of said author has ceased***This is the Love Song, revampedbecause this is the last day of April... Dear April, Don't leave me yet,I didn't get my fill of thrillsthat the soul baresInto sonnets of snared quadrillesFrom violet-starry thoroughfaresor driveways dimpled with plip-plopof raindrops wakening the dellI didn't spell first swells of greeninto an April doggerel or waltz enough, across a worldthat somersaults with joy's spent grief because of little puddles pearledlike jewels on a newborn leaf   I didn't tame to page the rushof hope as winter disappearsfrom the austere, north-facing slopeas the forlorn countryside cheersbeneath sun-kisses, warmer nowwhere mild zephyrs counter the chillthat sneaks into the winds that blowbut cannot thwart the daffodil Dear April, Don't leave me yet, Because, it feels like we just met  now we must partbefore I satisfy the thirstthat almost bursts the poet's heart with art that you alone bestow;the calm, that crowns the countrysidelike a prelude before the showbefore a creaking gate swings wideto gardens tickling soft, bare feetto fields mantled in dusty hazeto busyness we gladly greetyet meet with half-reluctant gaze because Time never takes a restbeneath the yellow willow treewhere the robin has tucked its nestwithin its sighing filigreewhere April showers spill and splashto wake flower-worlds held at bayAnd I would be too sad to laughBut for your sweet successor, May Janet Martin because of little puddles pearledlike jewels on a newborn leaf I love this poem by John Clareso fitting on this last day of April...April