O month when winter’s grip relaxes,
And man’s lets go too–income taxes–
You’ve girls with skates, and little boys
Complete with marbles, kites, and noise;
Icy blasts, and slush and snow;
Grass that tries in vain to grow.
You proffer spring, and to our sorrow,
Jerk it back again tomorrow.
Mud below and sun above–
A month of contrasts, still I love
You, March, for all your hocus-pocus-
Yesterday, I saw a crocus!
by Ray Romine Saturday, March 5, 1949
