This March,
Winter's last; a glimpse, a tease.
Springtime subtle kisses
Soft the crownless trees.
Comfort brings this promise;
Days beautiful to come.
Winter's wind, to blessed breeze
And azure sky succumb.
Through wind chimes weaving,
The season's timely march-
Frost's defeat, its fond fair well,
The pinecone-laden Larch.
The late and lagging sun,
Dripping, drags and drops.
Leaving drenched in silken shade,
The tree and chimney tops.
Brave Orion wanders wide,
From the dusk and charriot waning.
Stars once latent, waxing wake,
Over the night sky reigning.
The fresh and rising dawn,
Brings scarlet forth this March.
Where lions turn to lambs,
And the sun extends its arch.
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