In April, the giraffe
Is covered with red roses.
Roses bloom in her map of splotches,
Her net of pale square rivers,
As April browses, big-bellied, among acacias --
Aflame, rose-covered, infinitely gravid.
The lions sleep: a peaceable kingdom.
Easter pales the horizon. The world is once again
Reborn. All creatures now
Bring forth their hopeful young,
Their singing dreams of freedom.
O, ecstasy, to see such dawning!
The roses cast their petals down
In April, the giraffe.
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