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Marchens

Writer's picture: Theresa BaxterTheresa Baxter



She came in like a lion, roaring and howling

Our eyes stung with tears, our mouths grim and scowling

We gathered our collars pressed tight to our throats

The end of discomfort was no more than a hoax

Barely reached thawing, then only to crash

Snowy winds surge like a whip on skin lash

Tis typical March, she is flip and capricious

Tips us a wink that is wry and facetious

She knows we are tired of blustery grind

So anxious we are to leave winter behind

But much like a trickster, she mocks and she teases

With our frazzled emotions she does as she pleases

A mere month now seems like it’s years in the making

Such liberties with our taxed tempers she’s taking

Until when we think we can take it no more

A gentle warm breeze wafts its way through the door

Forgiven is March when like matronly ma’am

She gifts us clime gentle as bouncing fair lamb

The promise of spring once a slippery vow

Has entered stage right, takes a deep praiseful bow

It seems every year we go through this charade

Clutching last nerve when it’s ragged and frayed

Arrival of budtime makes the journey complete

Enduring the bitter to make sweeter the sweet!

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