|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 -