Forgiving Feather Faux Pas

March made its debut on a stage of sage and barren brown

We dusted off fond garden dreams; hope’s refreshed audience

But Old Man Winter found a pillow filled with eiderdown

And fluffs our stare with feather-flurry frosting field and fence

March is a moody merchant advertising prize Maybes

We, weary of gray backdrops are an eager, easy sell

Then, while thought samples scenes of sweet, green-flowered ecstasies

White whispers wash the world where weather is a feather-well

Tomorrow March may spill a thrill of daffodilly hues

(Ah, we are always willing to forgive feather faux pas)

While nature at the mercy of whatever March may choose

Arranges, beneath feathered beds a burst of bud-applause

© Janet Martin

a few hours later...