March Mistral Cheer

Blow then, March mistral, if you must

And strake the air with gruff huff-puff

You cannot hinder wanderlust

Though bully you may be, rough, tough

For while you rattle at the door

And roar through gaunt woods, starved for spring

And strew upon earth’s wooden floor

That shade of which we’re wearying

We are not overcome with grief

In our desire for green leaf

For we find in your weather good cheer

…all the better for reading, my dear

© Janet Martin

The lion is beginning to shake his mane and growl...

Reading Shakespeare Sonnet 116