With winter’s footprints in the past,
And snows begin to melt at last.
With longer days and shorter nights,
The wayward winds of March take flight.
Four winds she holds within her grip,
Then hurls them from her fingertips.
Her woolly, fleecy clouds of white,
She sets in skies of blue delight.
Her wild bouts of gusty breeze,
Roar through valleys, hills and trees.
That high pitch whistling song she sings,
Awakens earth and flowering things.
She tears a hole in heaven’s sky,
So sun can shine and rain can cry.
She gently calms as spring draws near,
As blooming daffodils appear.
She welcomes April showers in,
Then gathers up her dwindling winds.
When nights grow short,
And days grow long, listen for her whistling song…
-Patricia L. Cisco
