So, here it is mid-March, which is not to be confused with Middlemarch - a rather formidable read at least for me). So, I feel compelled to say Beware the Ides of March! But not compelled to say, or write, much else. For that reason I'm going to post a poem about March that I wrote a couple years ago and still like.
March teases us with glimpses of spring,
Toying with our affections;
One day all sunshine and smiles
The next, throwing a snowy snit.
Or she can be mysterious,
Shrouding herself in fog.
Buds and grasses green
At times, in spite of her.
We see the sins winter has hidden
Now laid bare before us:
With the floatsam and jetsam
Of our own humanity
The first flies buzz, sun-drunk
Reminding us there are advantages
To the dead time.
The frozen ground softenes;
A few brave Snowdrops
Shoulder their way through.
Resurrection is hard work.