March: A poem

The winds of my forebearers have cleared the way

to release the sun and the break of the day;

to awaken the morning even earlier still,

with the blooming of flowers, opening at will.

I bring with me nature, and the sounds that they make

I prompt the need for hoe, strimmer and rake.

This is the start of the season to come,

I am the month that can promise the sun.

The cold is retreating and falling behind,

my name is March, I hope you don’t mind.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s