Marching In
February bid adieu
And March marched in, like months should do.
It wasn’t lion-like today;
Tomorrow, though, will roar away.
Some shoots are poking through the ground
While leafless branches still surround
And robins haven’t yet appeared;
The sparrows, though, have persevered.
We can’t predict how March will roll.
It’s really out of our control
But likely, ‘fore it starts to scram,
We’ll get a little taste of lamb.
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