The wind, a restless, whispering thing,
Awakes the earth, where pale buds cling.
March tiptoes in, with skies of grey,
Then bursts of blue, that steal away.
A crocus cup, a fragile gleam,
Unfurls its petals, in a dream.
The daffodil, with trumpets bold,
A story of new life, unfolds.
The robin’s song, a brighter tune,
As winter’s grip begins to swoon.
The muddy paths, where children leap,
And scattered showers, secrets keep.
The sun, a painter, starts to trace,
A greener hue, on nature’s face.
From slumber deep, the world takes flight,
In March’s dance, of growing light.

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© Richard J Kirk, writing as Joseph R Mason – 2025
https://josephmasonauthor.com/about/
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