19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Wednesday, April 1, 1914:
When the flowers begin to peep from their hiding place.
T’will be known that spring is here, spring with all her grace.
When the birds will sing their songs in the tree tops high.
Oh, then we know that April’s here and will not pass us by.
April fool, wash your face and go to school.
Twasn’t nice and warm at all, at all.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
I love the surprise ending to this diary entry. April sounds so wonderful in the poem— but reality didn’t quite match the April of Grandma’s dreams.
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