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March
You swing onto the ramp of anticipation
then sputter and stall, deceleration
March, thy name is frustration
Your southern breezes arise and tease
‘til night plunges the ground in deep-freeze
March, your late frosts displease
Your rains help the leaves start to bud
then your snows turn frail flowers to duds
March, your name I spell M-U-D
Copyright ©
Gershon Wolf
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