Like a Lamb

She tiptoed in on silver scrim

Of February’s waning

While poets slept softly she crept

Beneath Time’s astral awning

The gilded wing of darling spring

Consoles the frosted tresses

Beneath night’s arch keen, moody March

Whispers of Easter dresses

The phantom skien of moment-mein
Employs its muted measure
As on the hearth of quiet earth
We greet Spring's sweet harbinger

© Janet Martin

I think March came in like a lamb; calm but very cold!