He makes us believe he has fled
Gathered his bluster and dread
Feel how he teases against the south hill
Kindling soft breezes in woodland and rill
And drawing the bud from its bed
When did he stumble away
Over the field dull and gray?
When did he shoulder the brunt of his ire,
Exchanging cold silver for emerald desire
And spring zephyr’s passionate sway?
He makes us believe he is gone
But, be not deceived by his charm
Inside his mouth he holds one final fling
Sweet bird of the south, hide your head ‘neath your wing
I sense in his chuckle a storm
Janet ~
The Ides of March
Just one of a dozen Ides that occur every month of the year
I hadn't thought much about the Ides of March this year. Now I do.
ReplyDelete(On another note, I didn't have time to answer your questions today. Hopefully tomorrow, and thank you.)