Spring

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.
—from "Spring" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

(No, I'm not revisiting my high-school emo days. I thought it was funny.)

Happy Spring. Idiocy and flowers and all that.