March stays for thirty-one days
and yet I barely know her,
a bridge between February and April
to be crossed despite the weather.
Why should I be like the early blooming trees
subjected to her ill-timed cruelties?
I’ve seen their branches bent and broken by her winds,
And wondered why they didn’t wait ‘til spring.
Then one icy afternoon, March paid a visit to my room.
“Forget your writing for a while,
I’m irritated by your smile.
It’s smug and safe and so secure,
Reminding me there’s so much more.
Leave your safe and guarded shore.
It’s time to hear the tiger roar.
Stalk the prey whose footsteps rhyme.
Beat your drum to jungle time.
These longer days aren’t here to stay,
and caution blows them all away.
Listen now and listen well
to the tales that I can tell.
There is a world you’ve never known,
where every year March winds have blown.
Step outside and say a prayer
lest April catch you unaw