Before March passes, I must honor it with a touch of Emily, the following poem especially since Dad and his occupational therapist, Kelly, saw a snake yesterday when they walked about the yard!
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,
..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
With the blue-birds buccaneering
..On his British sky.