We are in calm-before-storm mode here:)
March is a medley of day-dreamy drafts of garden-rooms
And longer longing looks at winter’s briery shadow-blooms
Of holes worn through thin fabric on a world weary of white
Of earthy-toned mosaics disappearing overnight
March is a mantra moaned and murmured in the barren woods
Prelude to the awakening of cloven-hooded broods
Inaudible, but tangible March-song is torn between
The flailing wands of winter and spring’s hailing fronds of
green
March is a moody melody; its Maestro like a child
Of easy, lilting laughter that dissolves in tantrum wild
March sits upon the hill and broods beneath the blue-gray sky
Then alights on the landscape like a yellow butterfly
March stirs hope’s happy hunger for first purple’s promenade
For innocence of bare-feet afternoons and lemonade
For daffodilly dell and fell where flower-bells unfold
For pancakes drizzled with the miracle of maple-gold
March is a canticle of silver-splashing circle-notes
Of lion’s roar and diamonds pouring from bedraggled totes
Of hearty hallelujahs as the grip of winter wanes
Of madrigals that fall on halls primed for what rain
unchains
March is a minstrel strumming lintels rife with summer-sage
March is a mistral roaring like a beast freed from its cage
March is a maiden strolling where cajoling zephyrs rove
March is young man, mad with the allure of life and love
March is sun-yellow sweet then sullen as a pouting mouth
Untamed bull from the north, a ballerina from the south
March is the month of hold-let-go, like mothers torn between
The wonder of what waits beyond the throb of what has been
© Janet Martin
