Dear March

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 -

​

March by William Carlos Williams

March (Parts I and II)
by William Carlos Williams
from Sour Grapes, 1921. This book is available free online at Project Gutenberg


I
Winter is long in this climate
and spring—a matter of a few days
only,—a flower or two picked
from mud or from among wet leaves
or at best against treacherous
bitterness of wind, and sky shining
teasingly, then closing in black
and sudden, with fierce jaws.

II
March,
you remind me of
the pyramids, our pyramids—
stript of the polished stone
that used to guard them!
March,
you are like Fra Angelico
at Fiesole, painting on plaster!

March,
you are like a band of
young poets that have not learned
the blessedness of warmth
(or have forgotten it).

At any rate—
I am moved to write poetry
for the warmth there is in it
and for the loneliness—
a poem that shall have you
in it March.

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