March strides in, marching behind February,
Chill rain blows gustily, weather seems wary:
Should it stay cold still? Should it turn warm?
Meanwhile, blue crocus pop up, true to form.
My coat seems too heavy, wool suit not enought,
I'd best take a raincoat, umbrella and stuff.
March likes to fool you, 10 times every day,
With sunshine and wind howl... March likes it that way.
I know spring is coming on March twenty-first,
We've just had an ice storm, the year's all-time worst.
I squish though the slush, I squint at the glare,
The bright light feels sparkly, it heats up my hair.
Dark clouds rush racing ahead of the gale,
Snow frosts the jonquils, their yellow now pale.
Some days I shiver, soft spring seems so far,
Of, March, such a strange month, how fickle you are!
Without and semblance of guilt,
Geraldo and Zsa Zsa and Wilt
Give us smug, knowing looks
As they peddle Their books
About what they've done under the quilt.
My purpose is not to condem.
But consider their sales stratagem:
They've had sex night and day;
Now they're asking for pay.
May I ask what you think that makes them?