March.

March.

I sit, stare, from my old lawn chair,
I never see a mad march hare,
I get the feeling spring is near,
Not enough to stand and cheer.

Not yet a visual work of art,
Some flowers make a steady start,
Crocuses, like a ladies polonaise,
In full bloom on sunny days.

Some nights are cold and raw,
An early sun won’t start a thaw,
By midday a tad more bright,
Melting icicles sheer delight.

Bumble bees in years gone by,
On rare occasions catch my eye,
One maybe two, come into view,
What a pity there are so few.

It often ends like a lions roar,
It leaves me with no rapport,
Cold winds, sleat and snow,
come in april make a show.

jobee

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSAb1tvL498