March Poem by Toni Atchison

Listen to the spring wind hoot
and holler round the corners of the house.
Trees dance mad as the wind moans
and groans between the houses.
The lion has come to March,
which has been lamb-like until now.
And all the wee small children of the sun
come slow and blinking from winter dens,
and sunset looks
like strawberry soda.

3-8-08