How Granny Loved April!

Gran, who was little and fragile and old

And crippled with gout

In the winter's cold,

Her tongue unsharpened by pain, would say,

"I'm waiting for April to come my way.

When a bluebird tips his hat to me

And calls, 'Hello!' I'll be out, you'll see."

How Granny loved April! when with her cane

She would hobble outside

Forgetting her pain.

Like a brave little crocus or flashing blue wing,

She adorned with her brightness the portrait of spring.

Last winter Gran left us: She smiled at those near

Then closed her eyes saying,

"I'll rest till I hear

A bluebird in Heaven call from the skies,

'Come, little Granny! It's April! Arise!'"