March Casanova

Hush, hush, my love, he murmurs in a summer-tone of dreams

Soon, soon you will be lolling by time’s turquoise-tinted streams

There, there, don’t fret; soon you’ll forget this flurry-flustered fray

For history has never failed us; spring will have Her way

And she will spill her daisies, she will thrill yon hill with bloom

And fill the rill with laughter, plant pansies on winter’s tomb

And tickle trees with fine-spun breeze and tease the roving gaze

With green in every shade and sheen foreign to painter-trays

Hush, hush, my love, soon the dull grove will wade knee-deep in flow’rs

Soon, soon, the promises of June will tune time’s tight-lipped bow’rs

There, there, don’t fret, for never yet has Time forgotten Her

Hush, hush, methinks I hear a song of pinks and purples stir

© Janet Martin