|snow on the maples – via Wikimedia|
In my part of the Northeast, March came in like a lion with a roar of snow.
So far, it has not been mad like a March Hare – but the month is young.
Let’s start the month with this poem from Emily Dickinson that looks at the month when it is a bit older and there are some leaves and colors.
Dear March – Come in –
How glad I am –
I hoped for you before –
Put down your Hat –
You must have walked –
How out of Breath you are –
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest –
Did you leave Nature well –
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me –
I have so much to tell –
I got your Letter, and the Birds –
The Maples never knew that you were coming –
I declare – how Red their Faces grew –
But March, forgive me –
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue –
There was no Purple suitable –
You took it all with you –
Who knocks? That April –
Lock the Door –