March

I find it strange how spring arrives
square
in the middle of March
as if Spring and Winter both
stretched forth a hand
and laid claim
to the same month,
both shouting Mine! Mine!
in unison
above the roar of the mighty March wind,
so that a scruffy young rabbit
can nibble the frozen purple heads
of a newborn crop of crocus
while sitting haunch-high
in snow.

© Copyright 2012 chickpea a.k.a. Patricia Syner (chickpea at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

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