March

The footfall of March comes whistling by, Wrapped in the hope that winter will die; But the winds of winter still coldly blow, Bringing the harvest of leftover snow. The birds from south wing their way home, From faraway places where feathered wings roam; Pregnant with the breathless feelings that bring, Promises of hope in the womb of Spring. The bright days of Eden are almost here, Blossoms that are sleeping will soon appear; But only the snowdrop lifts her brave little head, From a cold dank earth and lonely bed. But the skies of grey are turning blue, And the days grow longer and storms are few; Earth has joys to bring in her arms, As the birth of Spring brings in all of her charms.