On this the last day of April, I am remembering my dearly loved departed ones who were born in April.

Song Of A Second April

April this year, not otherwise

Than April of a year ago,

Is full of whispers, full of sighs,

Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;

Hepaticas that pleased you so

Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day,

And shingles lie about the doors;

In orchards near and far away

The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;

The men are merry at their chores,

And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep,

Noisy and swift the small brooks run

Among the mullein stalks the sheep

Go up the hillside in the sun,

Pensively,—only you are gone,

You that alone I cared to keep.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

My Father: William French

11 April 1916

25 March 2002

My parents
My brother and I

My dear Aunt Phyllis

15 April 1927

30 April 1988

Aunt Phyllis and Sally

My daughter, Julie Ann Christiansen

8 April 1976

29 May 2010

Julie