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March comes in upon us again,
Her winds falling about her frame,
And then again whipping her garment away,
Until we are enchanted with her fickle game.
It doesn't matter there is a bite in the air,
She is altogether sunny and fair.
We dote on the youthfulness of the year,
Trips along unpredictable and with no care.
She plays and runs through Pine branches,
Taking the sighing as with her chances,
Of greeting a sudden shift in the weather,
And gives to us only backward glances.
She is only here for a brief moment,
And we know soon a young summer gent,
Will rob us of her wonderful ways,
Going on to another story spent. |
