March

March tiptoes in on a chill wind’s sigh,
Grey clouds unfold like tired parchment,
While daffodils thrust their golden heads
Through frost‑bitten earth, reluctant to yield.

The days grow longer, a hesitant light
Spills over cobblestones and lane,
Children’s laughter echoes down the street,
As puddles mirror a sky in flux.

In the park, old men shuffle with canes,
Their breath forming tiny ghosts in the air,
While sparrows gossip from the hawthorn boughs,
Chirping the promise of softer weeks.

March is a soldier of change, steady and stark,
Marching forward with boots of mud and hope,
Reminding us that even the starkest winter
Yields, at last, to the whisper of spring.