Since snow is never coming, I've been looking forward for april (as march is nothing but a post-winter here)

I wish it were spring, cunningly blowing on the fallen sparks, odds and ends of the old, scattered fire, and kindling shapely little conflagrations, curious long-legged foals, and wide-eared calves, and naked sparrow-bubs.

I wish that spring would start the thundering traffic of feet, new feet on the earth, beating with impatience.

I wish it were spring, thundering, delicate, tender spring. I wish these brittle, frost-lovely flowers of passionate, mysterious corruption were not yet to come still more from the still-flickering discontent.

(...) Come quickly, and vindicate us. Against too much death. Come quickly, and stir the rotten globe of the world from within, burst it with germination, with world anew. Come now, to us, your adherents, who cannot flower from the ice. All the world gleams with the lilies of death the Unconquerable, but come, give us our turn. (D. H. Lawrence - read the entire poem here).