On the occasion of Passover, this poem by Yehuda Amichai:

'How we made love in the memorial forest for the Shoah dead
and we remembered only ourselves from the night before!
The forest did the remembering for us and gave us leave to love.
You remember how we threw off our clothes in the madness of desire:
the outer garments flew like heavy birds to the branches of the trees,
and the underwear remained on the forest floor
clinging to the springy briars of the thorny burnet, like snakeskins.
And our shoes stood nearby, mouths open in psalms of praise.'

(Translation: Bernard Horn.)

Read it here.

It's a good day to make love in the memorial forest for the Shoah dead, or any other forest.