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March
by
George Wentz

It's a joyless time,
-- March,
the senses deprived
of Nature's gifts.

Even the sound of it,
-- March,
is dead, not like
May, June, July.

Sparkling snowflakes
put on a festive face
for Christmas,
but now

snow is a dirty word.
-- March,
the trees still asleep,
the creeks frozen.

If only the chirp
of one bird could be heard,
I would know
I have not gone deaf.

Just one green leaf,
just one small bud,
I would know
of winter's end.

No, the icy wind
still bites my face.
-- March,
it makes me wait,
and want, and wait ...

--Submitted by George Wentz on 2011-03-08.

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