The March Wind

Bluff March wind is a vagrant fellow,

Over the hills with a gusty bellow

He dances and whirls in wildest glee,

Culling twigs from each gaunt tree.

Never idle, no, not he!

Now he's gyrating; now on a cloud,

Chasing snowflakes, laughing aloud;

Kissing the first born glowing primrose

Hidden by green leaves under the hedgerows.

He roars like a lion, yet is meek as a lamb.

"I am the March Wind, that's who I am!"