April Showers Bring May Flowers Poems Novels & Stories

No matter how far we are apart Please believe in those words I gave you Singing in the rain The raindrop is shining beautifully The moment when all the sadness is washed away The world will come alive Please come the tender rain Even if one day this scenery withers away The overwhelming emotion will still continue to pour into your eyes I want to connect our hearts I want to feel your pain When you wake up, on the soaked ground The buds are blooming It’s a tender rain May this song reach your side? No matter how far we are apart Please believe in those words I gave you Singing in the rain The raindrop is shining beautifully The moment when all the sadness is washed away

She went to the window just to see the magnificent view from it. Pidge twisted the door open and walked out. Walking down the stairs on tiptoes she saw Dylan was asleep on the couch. She made her way out of the house. The world is as silent as if it ended in the night. Upon the petals sit a hundred beads of water, each one a perfect sphere, brilliant in the morning rays. Each drop sits so lightly, yet together they are enough to cause the bloom to bow toward the earth. So delicate is the flower that even these scatterings of dew are significant. Soon the gentle heat of the morning will send them back to the clouds and the bloom will raise her head, calling to the summer bees.

The leaves whispered the songs of delight. The moon illuminated the beautiful flower of friendship that had blossomed under the sky. ***

She was squatting on the ground, and it appeared as if she was digging through the dirt? Sharon walked over in a puzzled manner and heard her mother reciting two lines of a poem, “The flower that smiles today, tomorrow dies; all that we wish today, tempts and then flies…”

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

The Hartley Bridge path in May was as good as he had told her. They walked it on the Saturday morning — all three of them, Catherine between Daniel and Adrian in the specific configuration of a person flanked by the two people who constituted, in the present arrangement of her life, her people in this city. The may-blossom was on the trees that lined the river path, white and dense and extravagant in the way of things that only lasted two weeks and knew it and committed accordingly. The river was up from the April rain, moving well, the light on it in the May morning doing the thing that light on water did when all the conditions were right: the specific broken brightness that was not a refl

I can feel moisture in the air itself, waiting, ready to obey. I extend my hand over the flowers, focusing on the pull inside me. A second passes, and then another, before the sky above responds. Rain falls, not in delicate drops, but in a sudden downpour, drenching the flowers and the ground beneath my feet. I watch in stunned silence as the rain cascades down, soaking everything in its path.

They needed to get this little girl made! And this potion held everything that would make that little girl, The Flower of Light. -END OF FLASHBACK- — The Goddess Flora was a beautiful being. She explained what the spell would create and what it contained. Also, what exactly her 'Flower of Light' would represent. Spring: Which is the gift of hope, renewal and fertility. Flowers: This was where her power would lie. There are four main flowers that were combined in the essence of this flower child. They all represented all the gifts of every birth flower of each month of the year too.

I looked down at the book once again before I entered my room and sank down on my bed, opening the weathered book carefully, flipping to a random page. Dear Wynter It's been warmer lately, so I know that my time awake is coming to an end. Miss Emily has been pushing me harder in my lessons, so I think she senses it too. Soon it will be your turn, so I have one request - write often. Your words have become the highlight of my waking periods and I want to know everything about the winter season. I worry that I will never be able to experience it. With love, April Ps. I've stuck my favourite flower in the back of this diary. It's called a daffodil.

Spring, Thirty-Fifth Year In the spring of the thirty-fifth year, Caroline came to stay for a week. She came in May — the season of the foxgloves and the grove in blossom and the thirty-fifth year of the arrangement and the fourteenth year of Ruth's tenure and the thirty-fifth spring of everything that had been planted or built in the first year. May in England was a particular kind of promise: the frosts finally over, the days lengthening, the garden exploding into growth after the hesitation of March and the preparation of April. The foxgloves were at their peak in May — the tall spires of flowers in their various shades of purple and pink and white, the bees working them steadily, the spe