The March Wind

	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!"

	Betty Mates, 1937