It's March
Fickle Friday
The thirteenth
Inside
Another parched night
Outside
Winter's flirty lurch
Another cold night in sight
Stepping out my back door
Minus six Celcius
I watch the moon in flight
Listening
A bleak glistening
One forlorn Robin chirps and peeps
Perched in the cold and dark
Yesterday
A small flock flew in
On a warmer trend
Fending for themselves
Managing some life
From bits of barren ground
Then this unfair cold
Cutting like a knife
I wonder what birds will survive
How many bees are still buzzing in their hives
What will endure this March strife
Windigo on the prowl
Such a hungry moon
This flurry of madness won't wait
Indictment by both fool and fowl
Winter's end can't come too soon