The March Wind

The March wind is blowing, 
it isn't snowing, 
but this wind is no mere gust 
Try not to tarry, 
the March wind will carry, 
you off with the debris and dust.

Travelling lino, 
once home to a wino, 
knocks Mrs Brown to the ground,
This is no flurry, 
the wind's in a hurry, 
and soon she is wrapped all around.

She's screaming and crying, 
the wind is defying, 
refusing to let her break free,
When at last she is out, 
with a scream and a shout, 
that lino is tied to a tree.

Trees they are bending, 
their branches are rending, 
roof tiles are flying about,
This is no rustle, 
it's causing a hustle, 
we are better indoors than out.

The wind is now whirling, 
twisting and twirling, 
I can't see at all for the dust
Fences are falling, 
the poor dog is crawling, 
but walking the dog is a must.

This wind is no bluster, 
it's causing a fluster,
for this is a horrible day, 
The wind is now howling, 
screeching and growling, 
I wish it was April or May.
 

© March 2004

Carole A. M. Johnson

 

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