In a pot, so the gopher didn't get it.
We reach April's end.
Showers were promised, perhaps to rinse the stench of 30 consecutive days of raw poems published without heed to clinging dirt whence they were dug. Of course I speak of myself, as I found the some-thousand pens I read this month (and many more comments, if fewer by me) to be alternately inspirational, melancholic, funny, chilling, grandiose, brilliant, sweet, stoic, emotional, raw, polished - but overall, authentic. (The pens, not my comments. I need new synonyms - Roget's is burned up by now.)
Originally I was thinking to bring Rainer Maria Rilke back into the garden. He is frequently cited and much admired, but fortunately chief Toad, the inimitable Kerry O'Connor (Skywriting, Skylover) chose to highlight him a few days ago as the inspiration for Open Link Monday, with these famous lines:
You ask whether your verses are any good... This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?
I invite all visitors to read her post and the comments, and, of course the offered poems and those comments - contributing where you can, and when you must.
As honored guest and contributor, the brilliant poet Brendan noted in those comments:
Rilke was perhaps the only poet EVER to entirely exist upon his writing of poems -- never taught, had any day job, nothing but writing poems. Few can live even close to his example. A god? Perhaps, but certainly a bell on Sunday ever reminding us of this love, this task, this burden inconsequential to everything else a human exists for. Who else can we address such things to except the poets in each of us, and the ancient one deep down inside who bid us Write?
Indeed.
However, despite popular acclaim and a vote of ones, I've chosen a different road on this final day of National Poetry Writing Month (which I follow both here in the garden, and at Maureen Thorson's blog, NaPoWriMo 2014.)
I look forward to those who voted in favor to highlight M. Rilke (Herr Rilke?) for a future challenge (Helen, Shay, Hedgewitch, Margaret).
from wikipedia, fair use
Instead, as your inspiration for the final day, I proffer an old chestnut: The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, first published in the US for the princely sum of $2.00, on 6 April, 1943 by Reyanl & Hitchcock (with questionable license to do so), later by Harcourt, Brace, and World. (Currently, 1943 editions range in price from $15 to $1,600, with an original signed copy fetching some $32,000 last year.)
Saint-Exupéry disappeared in a Lockheed P-38 Lightning on 31 July, 1944. (My father learned to fly in a P-38 as a Lieutenant in the VNAF, and gave me my first copy of the book (in French) sometime around the age of 9. That he disappeared in France for a while before returning to the US near the end of his life, is neither an echo nor a comparison to Saint-Exupéry, but, remains a curiosity to me. My two sons loved the book when I read it to them in the closing minutes before bed - as my 15 year old just reminded me, when he asked me what I was doing.)
The Morgan Library and Museum in New York just concluded a 3-month run of exhibits, lectures, films (one with Gene Wilder as the Fox), and a (canceled) concert in celebration of Le Petit Prince.
The "official" website The Little Prince notes that beginning in May 2014, there will be a month long celebration at Olympian City in Hong Kong.
Our diminutive ami remains a best-seller, trailing only Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities and Tolkien's Lord of the Ring series, per wikipedia, in total global sales. (I mention this because of my fascination with numbers.)
He gets under the skin of some. Others take it a bit further. 
fair use
To me, he represents whimsy, curiosity, the willingness to question authority, the spirit of exploration, flowers and planets and elephants and snakes and the inherent flexibility of points of view, and how I continually forget that to remain child-like in outlook is infinitely preferable to becoming a ledger entry.
And so when I return to the pages, it's as much as to remember what was, as to remind me to continue to invite wonder.
For your word list challenge today, I ask that you write an original poem (or re-work an older pen) in the spirit of the book, using at least 3 of these words, post to Mr. Linky, and then return to visit and comment on all the other posts. I'll be sure to visit periodically in the days to come in case you choose to join later.
The list: primeval, adventures, grown-ups, clad, reputation, ephemeral, flower, lucky, poison, stars, bank, forget, odd, million, reflective, trouble, baobabs, silence, naive, explorer.
"All men have the stars, but they are not the same things for different people. ... You-- you alone-- will have the stars as no one else has them--"
Thanks for playing along, and congratulations to everyone who tussled through NaPoWriMo - and to those who didn't, too.
~ M