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 (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922.
It's been a while since I shared a poem here. The turning of the seasons seems to inspire something I suppose. Today I bring you a wee tiny taste of the Waste Land by T. S. Eliot. I hope you liked it.