Geoff and Tom on April

The other day I posted a tweet that was perhaps a little opaque.
Basically I was thinking of this:

WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding

The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

And bathed every veyne in swich licour,

Memory and desire, stirring

Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Dull roots with spring rain.

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth

Winter kept us warm, covering

Inspired hath in every holt and heeth

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

A little life with dried tubers.

Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

And smale fowles maken melodye,

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

That slepen al the night with open ye,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

(So priketh hem nature in hir corages):

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages