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