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.

The Versesmith