What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. - T. S. Eliot

To make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us.

And if all that is meaningless, I want to be cured
Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence...