April is the cruellest month, breeding
Fringe program deadlines, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull scripts with fresh ideas.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with club spots.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Underbelly
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Urban Garden.
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. [to be continued?]