Oh, March
Oh, March
you pompous windbag
howling in the hollows
of Winters fade.
Scattering Fall’s gold
across warmed mud,
billowing tree bound
plastic bag kites,
hoisting the weightless hawk.
Oh March
you city street sweeper
funneling debris
down tunneled alleys,
tearing at the edges
of flailing flags,
hastening the pace
of lethargy’s malaise.
Oh March
you docile lamb
caressing soft peeking buds,
nurturing the squawk
of nestlings,
nudging idle cocoons
to wakefulness,
warming ophidian
cold blood.
Oh March
you are the hint
of warming’s kiss
titillating Spring’s yawn.
John G. Lawless
©3/1/2018
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2018
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