Here's another terza rima sonnet, this time by Elizabeth Jennings. It seems appropriate for the time of year too (give or take a few days).
In April
This is a time for beginning and forgiving,
Lent and April - how their honour shines,
How they ask a change in all our living
Now where the earth shows such propitious signs,
The bursting blossom, and the birds who sing
As if no winter happened. There are lines
Upon my face, the show of lingering
Sadness and grief; I stand aside from all
This ceremonious joy. The birds who wing
In widening circles must like all things fall
But for this moment seem eternal. I
Have no words, no sign, and no fit call.
Disillusion is a way to die.
I wear the dark of it now like a shawl.
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