March
The calendar said winter's past
But still we ducked an icy blast.
we lived in worlds of snow and flood.
Of alternating ice and mud.
The world was grey, in tones of dust;
The sun departed, in disgust.
The calendar insisted, still.
We tapped the maples on the hill.
Their buds held pollen on the trees,
Delighting optimistic bees.
The sun peered out, then warmly spread
Green struggles in the tulip bed.
Then all the birds began to sing,
And,in the nick of time, came Spring.
Anne Frey
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