Cruel March
They say that March comes roaring in, then sheepishly departs. I disagree for me, you see, it’s a month of fits and starts. March warms the bulbs who peek their heads, then hide beneath the snow. The peas I planted hoping spring, rot in the earth below. March is fickle. March is cruel. Eliot was wrong. April is the kinder month, March winter does prolong. ©2023 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved