Wednesday, March 11, 2015

March poem

by simply factory


WE like March, his shoes are purple,
  He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
  Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder’s tongue his coming,        5
  And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
  That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
  Bold it were to die        10
With the blue-birds buccaneering
  On his British sky.

Emily Dickinson

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