It’s March
and soon its melting song will fill our eager ears
As all across the country-side its white coat disappears
And crocuses begin to press toward the warming
sunIt’s March; the month where we declare that springtime
has begunIt’s March; and how our spirits leap
to laugh those glorious words
And how the pulse of gardener quickens as dirt-dreams are stirredTo tangible fruition as we look at seeds and thrill
Before we revel in the marvel of new blooms
about to spillIt’s March and soon
the junco on the snow will fly away
As drip-drop notes and sunshine gloats on
winter’s last foray At last we’ll open windows, shake the dust
from curtained rooms
While singing songs of rain and sun to wake
earth’s slumb’ring tombsIt’s March; the tree limb stripped in fall
is decked in ruby gem
And winter’s mourning madrigal is moping on Time’s hemBefore the jostling zephyr and its chortling melody
Abolishes another winter to Vast History
© Janet Martin
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